


Ward of Pyke

by Blue_fantasy



Series: Ward of Pyke Series [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on the show canon, Bear Island (ASoIaF), But heavily borrowing from the books, Canon Divergence - Greyjoy Rebellion, Child Abuse, Childhood Sweethearts, Essos, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Greyjoy Rebellion, Hostage Situations, House Manderly - Freeform, House Mormont, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Iron Islands (Westeros), POV Sansa Stark, POV Theon Greyjoy, Rape, Riverrun, Sailing, Slow Burn, Theonsa - Freeform, What if Balon won his rebellion, Young Love, salt wife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-01-05 12:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21208562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_fantasy/pseuds/Blue_fantasy
Summary: The Greyjoy Rebellion was a success. To ensure the obedience of Ned Stark and the North, Balon takes his eldest daughter to Pyke as a ward.What if Sansa was ward of Pyke instead of Theon going to Winterfell?Sansa Stark is taken to Pyke as a ward at the age of four. The Greyjoy's have an unstable hold on the North and the Riverlands. During her time on the islands, she struggles with whether she can trust those around her and her memories of Winterfell leading up to her captivity.As Theon grows up with his Ironborn family, he uncovers the truth of his grandfather's legacy and struggles with his duty to his father and the crown versus doing what is right and just. The arrival of a little girl and their growing friendship brings this inner conflict into increasing focus.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at sapphire-reverie - https://sapphire-reverie.tumblr.com/
> 
> This will have numerous chapters. Not sure how many. We will see where this idea takes us.
> 
> Some dates related to the story to keep in mind:
> 
> 289AC Greyjoy Rebellion  
298AC Season 1 Episode 1 of GOT TV Show
> 
> Feedback is welcome. Especially if you feel more detail or information is desired in places, or the way something is phrased or written could be made more clear. 
> 
> As a visual artist, I have always felt writing to be my weak spot. Thanks in advance for your feedback and criticism. (And I can take the criticism--I have an art degree, I have been put through the critique wringer many a time.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ward is taken, a family broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 4  
Arya - 2  
Bran - 1
> 
> Mood board by forthegenuine

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Year 289 AC

Tears streamed down her cheeks and onto the front of her mother's dress. Her mother's arms were wrapped around her so tight, she struggled to take in a full breath. Through the watery blur in her eyes, she saw over her mother's shoulder her little sister crying, the little girl clutching her father's leg. He stood looking down away from the little tot clinging to him, his hair hanging at the sides of his face as if shielding his expression and his shame from his children and those around them.

"I placed your favorite doll and storybook in your trunk. A few of your dresses and a warm fur are in there along with some ribbon for your hair, fabric, and sewing supplies. You are growing so fast, I know you will be needing a new dress soon so keep working on your sewing skills. One day you can make one yourself," her mother softly said as she pulled her off her shoulder and firmly placed her fingers under her chin for her daughter to look directly in her eyes, as if trying to transfer her strength into the little girl of only four name days.

She could hear the crackling cries of her baby brother, swaddled in the arms of her nanny, whose own tears ran down her face and onto the baby. She could hear the old woman mumble, "just an innocent little girl...no place for a lady to grow up".

"Hush, old woman!" the greasy man standing behind her shouted. "You'll watch your tongue now that you're under my rule." He was dressed all in grey and the strange creature on his armor scared the little girl.

He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of her mother's embrace, his grip so tight she yelped out a little cry as he lifted her into the carriage.

"Momma! Momma! Momma!" She screamed through her tears. She tried to climb out of the door and the greasy man shoved her back. She tripped over the hem of her dress, hitting the back of her head on the seat inside.

"Don't hurt her!" She heard her mother scream as she struggled to get back on her feet, her head throbbing. The door slammed closed and she could hear scuffling and desperate cries coming from her mother. "Please, she could be hurt. Plea--," A loud smack echoed through the courtyard, followed by a collective gasp.

She could hear the sound of swords unsheathing as the greasy man shouted, "Don't you dare move, Lord Stark. You have no control over your insulant wife. Your daughter will be taught better. Taught to be an obedient salt wife for one of my sons. And if YOU cannot remain obedient, you will find her at the bottom of the sea, far away from your beloved Godswood."

He finished his tirade just as Sansa pulled herself up to peer out the window at her family. The greasy man's soldiers had swords pointed at her father's neck.

"Father!" She screamed as she stretched her arm up and out the window, her little fingers spread as she tried with all her might to reach out farther toward him. At that moment, he looked directly at her, his eyes wide and bulging, his lips pressed tight, jaw clenched. She could see tears glisten down her father's cheeks.

"Go, now!" The greasy man shouted to the front of the carriage. With a crack and a shout, Sansa was jerked back onto the floor as she was pulled away from her family. She heard the cries of her mother, the shouts of her little sister, and the collective weeping of all she had known in Winterfell. It would be the last she would know of Winterfell in her childhood.

Sansa remained on the floor of the carriage, curling up on her side, knees tucked under her chin, arms squeezing her shins. She cried until she ran out of tears, snot coating her sleeves. Her body was rattled as they rode over the rough terrain. All around her she heard the clopping of horses, the clanging of armor and weapons, the grunts of rough men, the cawing of crows, the howling of wolves. There was a sorrow to the howls, an overwhelming sadness. As she looked up at the window from the floor and out at the gray sky, she listened intently to the howls as if the wolves were crying for her, for her family.

As her eyelids began to feel the weight of the day, Sansa closed them and drifted into a dream. She dreamed she was running through the snow and alongside her was a large wolf, larger than any she had ever seen. It looked like the ones from her story books filled with dragons and other creatures of the past.

As she looked out ahead of her she saw her older brothers running, too. Each of them had a wolf alongside them as well. They seemed to be protecting them. She called out to her brothers to wait for her, they were running too fast. They did not seem to hear her. She kept calling, "Robb! Jon! Wait for me!"

She stumbled over her skirts, looking down and falling into the snow. Her wolf nudged her up again, but when she went to look after her brothers, they were gone. She tried to follow their tracks, but after only a small distance the heavy falling snow had hidden where they went. She shouted for them for what seemed like hours, until she felt a hand grab her arm.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Sansa sat up frightened on the floor of the carriage, screaming her brothers' names. A man was gently gripping her arm.

"Oi, girl. You're alright. Shush, now," the man said gently as his grip on her arm loosened to a soothing rub. Sansa stared at the man through her tear crusted puffy eyes. He was younger than the greasy man. His eyes were kind and looked at her with sadness.

"It is time to go to the ship. Let's get your wee self outta this box and into the fresh sea air. It'll do ya good." He lifted her into his arms and set her softly onto the rocky ground.

She had never seen the sea before, only listened to stories about pirates and creatures called krakens from her books and Old Nan. As she took a deep breath in, she could taste the salty air on her tongue. She had never smelled air like this.

Her ears were overwhelmed with the repetitive cawing of birds, big white and gray birds swirling in the skies all around them, some swooping close to the soldiers' heads. Frightened, she tucked herself behind the kind man's long jacket.

"No fear, wee one. Just the gulls. They won't hurt ya," he said with a chuckle. Sansa peeked up at him from behind his coat to see him smiling down at her. It was the first smile she had seen from any of the men who had taken her away.

He pulled her out from his coat and knelt down next to her, looking into her eyes. "I'm Lord Rodrik Harlaw. You, wee lass, can call me Rodrik." He continued to smile at the frightened little girl with the fire-kissed hair. She jumped into him with a big hug, closing her eyes as she squeezed.

Another chuckle rolled out from his chest. "Oh, alright lass. I guess I'll be carrying you down to the dock." And with that, Rodrick lifted Sansa onto his hip, holding her there with one arm as he marched her down toward the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa arrives at Pyke and meets the Greyjoy family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 4  
Theon - 8  
Yara - 11

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

There was a knock at the cabin door. Sansa jumped and let out a little scream at the sound.

"It is just I, Lord Rodrik, m'lady. I have come with some books for you. And something to drink that may help with your sea sickness."

She had been shaking, her teeth chattering, in the corner opposite the door, wrapped in the blanket from the bed, a bucket by her side that a young man called Maron, who looked a lot like the greasy man, had tossed in the cabin as he shoved her in the tiny room just after getting on the ship. She thought it was just a chamber pot until they got out in open water.

It was the first time she had ever been this sick without her mother at her side. As she clutched the sides of the wooden bucket with her head hanging between, she closed her eyes and imagined her mother sweeping her hair back from her face, whispering sweet loving words in her ear, telling her it would all be fine.

Instead, she had vomit dried and crusted on the long strands of hair around her face. Tears had fallen and dried in dirty streaks down her cheeks as she had not been washed in days. This is how Lord Rodrik and found her, huddled in the corner, as he opened the cabin door.

"Oh, dear lass." He knelt down beside her with a bowl of fresh water, a cup of something to drink, and some books tucked under his arm.

First, he squeezed out the cloth in the water and began gently wiping her face. As Sansa winced, she realized her skin no longer felt tight on her face. This small gesture was refreshing and the best she had felt since leaving Winterfell.

He reached over and opened her trunk, digging through until he found a piece of gray ribbon. He picked her up out of the corner and set her on the floor in front of him facing away. She could feel him quickly and deftly braiding her hair, binding it in the gray ribbon at the end.

"A sailor knows a few things about braids and knots. This should help keep your fiery locks outta the sick bucket," he chuckled in a gentle voice. He then lifted her up and turned her to face him. "There. That's better, lass. Does it feel better?"

"Mhmm." Sansa hummed as she lifted her eyes from the floor to Rodrik's face. This face was different from Maron and the greasy man and the others on the ship. There was no harsh scowl. No harshness at all. Just sun darkened skin and rough calloused hands. Otherwise, his expressions and gestures made her feel safe. Made her feel that she could trust him.

As the ship rocked again, she scrambled for the bucket, half missing the target. Roderick held it in place for her as she dry heaved, nothing left in her stomach to empty into the bucket. He rubbed circles over her back just like her mother had.

"Here. Try this. It should help settle your stomach so we can get some food and water in ya," he held out the cup when she was finished leaning over the bucket.

She brought the cup to her lips and wrinkled up her nose at the smell. "It may not smell so pleasant but tis a whole lot better than the smell of this bucket," Rodrik said, attempting to encourage her to drink. She took a small sip and scrunched her face. "Drink it quick and fast. Best way to get it done." He was brushing his hand up and down her arm, soothing her as she took her medicine and the tears began to well up in her eyes again.

“Hush hush, lass. It will be over soon. I brought you some books to help you pass the time.” Rodrik picked up the stack of books from the floor that he had carried in under his arm. Sansa reached her arm out from the blanket wrapped around her and brushed her fingers across the leather embossing of one of the books. The image was of a giant sea creature she had seen in her own books. There was a man riding on the sea creature, a bow in his hand and a quiver on his back. She picked it up and set it in her lap, staring intently at every detail.

“Ah, the legend of the Kraken Prince who rescued his fair princess from the Evil Butcher. That is one of my nephew’s favorites. He is just a few years older than you and a kind lad. He would be a good playmate for a while. And he could read you these stories until you learn your letters.” Sansa looked up at him with wide sad eyes. Why would she need a new playmate? She didn’t need him to read her stories. That is what her brother Robb was for. Her chin dimpled as it began to tremble, the welled-up tears spilling from her eyes and onto the book.

“I dinna mean to make you sad, lass. Just wanted you to know you wouldn’t be left alone with this lot of angry men. The king has a family you will spend your days with and if I know my sister, the queen, she will take a liking to you and make sure you’re cared for. She won’t let that mean old king hurt you. I reckon my niece will look out for you, as well. She has always wanted a sister and you may be the closest she’ll get.”

Sansa’s eyes opened wide in wonder. “Your sister is a queen? What is she like? Does she wear pretty gowns? Does she wear a crown? How did she--”

“So I’ve found where your fondness lies. Kings, queens, princes, princesses, and pretty things, is it? Well, my sister is not the prettiest queen or the fanciest dresser, but she is beautiful in her own way, especially in her heart and through her kindness and love for her family,” he told the little girl still looking up at him with enchantment in her eyes.

“What is her name?” Sansa asked in a dreamy tone.

“Alannys, Queen of the Iron Islands,” straightening his back as he told her proudly. “And she has one princess and three princes. The littlest prince is the one who likes this book."

“Three princes!” She exclaimed. Sansa had never heard a story with three princes in it before.

Rodrik chuckled and gave the little girl a big grin, rubbing his hand on the top of her head. “Aye, but the two older ones are big old moody brutes, much much bigger than you. They will pay you no mind. But the younger two, Yara and Theon, will fast make you their friend.”

“You know that once upon a time, your family were kings and queens of the North,” he leaned in to whisper, “I guess that might make you a little princess yourself.” He winked at the girl with flames for hair and there it was, a smile on her face. The first he had seen her give.

He then stood up, lifting her with the book in his arms and over onto the bed. “You enjoy looking through the book and I will go get ye some food. That potion ye drank seems to be working.” He held her hand and bowed looking up at her. “Princess Sansa,” he whispered and then kissed her hand. He was rewarded with yet another smile and this time, a small giggle. And then he was off to find food.

Sansa opened the book in her lap. The illustrations were beautiful, with many bright colors. She was looking at a picture of the Kraken Prince, his quiver and bow strapped across his torso, standing on top of a castle wall, holding the hand of the princess, her long flowing red hair blowing in the wind. She ran her fingers over the princess’s hair. The color was so much like her own.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

She tucked herself back into Rodrik’s coat and hugged his leg. The large creature over the hearth that she had learned was a kraken, scared her.

“You’re soft on her. It will do her no good if she is to survive on the Iron Islands,” the greasy man growled at Rodrik. “If she is to be a salt wife, she will need to learn that life is not a fairy tale.”

“Your grace, she is just a scared child who has been torn from all she knows. If you want her to survive so you can continue to keep Ned Stark under your thumb, a small bit of empathy might be called for. He may be your enemy, but she does not need to be,” Rodrik spoke to the king as he placed his hand on Sansa’s back, gently coaxing her out of his long coat.

“Nuncle!” Children’s voices shouted from the other side of the great hall. Sansa peeked out from her hiding place to see two children about the size of her older brothers running toward them, giant grins across their dirty faces, all dressed in gray fabric. Rodrik moved Sansa behind him as the two children lept up onto him.

“Did you bring us anything from the North?,” the girl asked only to have her response interrupted by the little boy.

“Did you bring us snow?” He asked enthusiastically, whistling at the “s” sounds through the gap in his front teeth. Why someone would bring snow as a gift bewildered Sansa. Suddenly, his eyes looked down over his uncle’s shoulder directly into Sansa’s wide eyes. He slid down off Rodrik and walked around to stand in front of her.

His eyes were just as wide as hers. They sparkled like the sun glittering off the water on a sunny day. But they weren't the color of the streams and ponds near Winterfell. They were blue and green at the same time like the sea. One corner of his mouth quirked up into a sort of grin as he tilted his head to the side, still not breaking their gaze. He reached out his hand and gently touched a strand of her hair by her ear, cupping it into his palm and running his fingers down to the ends, his eyes breaking from her face to follow and then returning back to hers.

"So pretty," he said softly with a smile tilting his face down, the ends of her hair still resting in his hand. His wavy dusty brown locks fell over his eyes. He stuck out his bottom lip and blew the hair back.

"Did you bring us a little sister?!" The girl shouted from behind the boy as she shoved him to the side. "She is so cute," she said looking up at her uncle. Sansa could hear the greasy man grumble as he stood near the hearth, leaning on the giant kraken.

"I'm Yara. I'm gonna be your big sister. We are gonna have so much fun together. This is Theon. He's my little brother. He's an idiot sometimes but he is fun to play with, too. What is your name?" The older girl talked really fast and aggressive which scared Sansa a bit and made her wish she could hide back in Rodrik's coat again.

"Well, go on, lass. It's your name. You tell em," Rodrik said with a nod toward his niece and nephew.

"S-s-sansa," she stammered.

"Sansa. That's pretty," Theon said in almost a whisper. His eyes were still gazing at her wide as if in disbelief.

Yara punched her brother in the shoulder.

"Ouch," Theon whined as the contact snapped him out of his wonderment. "Why did you do that?"

"Don't be such a dolt!" Yara bossed back.

"Is she here?" Sansa heard a woman's soft voice from the other side of the hall. For a moment she thought it might be her own mother, but then realized it was a bit different. She leaned to look around the children to see who was speaking.

There was a woman floating across the stone floor toward them, dress flowing just like her own mother. But her dress was a drab gray color. Her hair was flowing but rather than the smooth red of her mother's hair, it was a wiry dull sandy blonde. Her smile radiated warmth and her laughter at the excitement of her children brought a beauty to her presence.

"This must be Lady Sansa Stark," she sang as she floated closer, bending down to touch her fingers under the young girl's chin, lifting it up toward her gaze. "What a singular little beauty you are." Her smile was beaming so bright, Sansa couldn't help but smile back at her.

"Well, looks like you are the second one to get a smile outta the girl," Roderik chuckled to his sister.

The greasy man, who Sansa began to realize was the King, continued to grumble near the hearth, gulping down a cup of ale and filling it again. "The lot of you will keep her soft and weak. She needs to be made iron if this all is to work."

"Pshhhh," the Queen directed toward her husband with a dismissive gesture. "She is but four years. I would ask you to have a heart, my dear, but I know that yours has been gone for some time." Her tone turned cold as she finished her statement.

"Woman!" Balon slammed his drink onto the table. He literally growled at his wife, eyes dark with anger. Yara and Theon each grabbed a side of her skirts. Yara put her arm around Sansa, pulling her close. She glared daggers at her father from under her own mother's arm. "Hide behind your mother but one day she will not be able to protect you. Alannys, if this coddling continues, that boy won't even be able to captain a single ship."

Sansa saw Theon's brow furrow, his chin shaking. The anger between the king and his family scared Sansa. She cuddled up closer to Yara, who smelled a lot like her brothers after a day of playing in the wolfswood, but with a touch of salt in the air.

"Lanny, the poor girl needs a bath. And from the looks of it, so do these two monsters," Rodrik broke the tension, tickling the sides of his niece and nephew. The two older children's laughter rolled out of their chest, giving huge grins to their uncle.

"Come, dear, let's draw you a bath and find you some clean clothes. I still have some of Yara's old things that should fit you well enough, though I do think you are taller than she was at your age," Alannys put her hand out and Sansa set her little fingers in her palm. The queen gave a squeeze and a smile and led her up to her new chambers and a warm bath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weather is getting warmer in Westeros. Sansa learns to swim. The ladies of Pyke prepare for a feast to honor the return of the heir to the Iron Islands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 5  
Theon - 9  
Yara - 12

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Year 290 AC

The sun felt warm on her skin. She had never felt warmth like this outdoors. She slid her fingers under the sand at her side. Resting her chin on her knees, she dug her toes in the sand as she watched Theon and Yara try to shove each other under the waves, their laughter bouncing off the rocks behind her.

It had been about a year since Sansa arrived on Pyke. In that time, the weather had gotten warmer than any of the children remembered. Today had been a rare sunny day on the island, so they ran down to the beach.

After a few weeks of trying to keep up with the Greyjoy children, she gave up on her dresses for playtime and had begun wearing trousers like Yara.

As they reached the beach that day, Theon yanked off all his clothes. Sansa stood there wide eyed with her mouth agape as she watched her friend run screaming into the waves naked as a baby.

Yara pulled off her trousers and tunic, leaving on a lightweight top and her smallcloths. She followed right after her brother, smiling and screaming all the way into the water.

This was the point when Sansa frowned and sunk her bottom down onto the sand. She would just have to enjoy watching from the beach.

"Come on, Sansa!" The Greyjoy children shouted over the crashing waves. She saw them bobbing up and down and waving at her to come in. She just shook her head and looked down at her toes, wiggling them up back up through the sand.

"Come on, chicken!" Theon shouted one of his usual teasing names at her. "Ouch, Yara! Why--" She looked up as Yara smacked Theon on the back of the head and shoved him under the water. Yara at twelve years was taller and stronger than her little brother. She had recently had a growth spurt and was now only a smidge shorter than her mother. Scrawny Theon at nine years didn't stand a chance against his sister. Yara protected Sansa from a lot of Theon's idiocy. And they both fiercely protected her from their father.

Yara swam in closer and began walking through the waves crashing near the shore. Sansa looked up at her. The older girl stood a few feet from her, tilting her head as if studying her, thinking intently about something. She was more of a dark silhouette standing with the midday sun behind her head. Sansa squinted to see her better.

"Sansa, you don't know how to swim, do you?"

Sansa shook her head.

"Well, come on. I'll teach you," the older girl offered her hand down to Sansa but she didn't take it. Instead, she shook her head again.

"Are you scared?"

"Mhmm," she sounded, nodding her head up and down.

Yara retracted her arm and sat down in the sand next to Sansa, the cold saltwater from her hair dripping onto the younger girl. She could see the sand sticking to the wet skin of her older friend.

"My oldest brother, Rodrik, taught me how to swim," she said softly as she looked wistfully out at the sea where Theon was still bobbing and swimming through the waves. "He was just a bit younger than Theon and I was just a bit younger than you."

"Were you scared?"

"I was at first, but I wanted so badly to play in the water with my brothers. Especially because Mother was so occupied with baby Theon at the time. I already knew by that age that I didn't want to be left in any room alone with my father."

"Why is he so angry and mean?"

"Part of it is just the way of the Ironborn. My big brothers are more and more like him every time I see them. I guess being out at sea for that long--I guess you start to grow barnacles on your heart and father's is completely crusted over with the creatures."

"My father is a quiet man. He never really shouted at me. I just didn't want him to be ashamed of me. But I must have shamed him. Why would he send me away?" Sansa's chin was quivering. She could feel the warm tears welling up.

Yara put her arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She whispered in Sansa's ear, "You are here because our father's don't like each other. You are here because you mean so much to your father that my father wanted you."

Yara paused for a moment and then jumped up and stretched out her hand like before. "How about those swim lessons?"

Sansa looked up at her friend that she trusted and placed her little hand in hers. The older girl helped her with her tunic and trousers, getting her down to the smallcloths, and then pulled her into the water as they ran together toward where Theon was waiting.

The taste of the salt was so strange in her mouth as she floated in the water, her friends' hands guiding her as she worked on her breathing, arm movements, and kicking. It was exhilarating being washed over by the cold water. The best was when the lesson was over and they stood closer to shore jumping into the waves as they came in.

The sounds of their collective laughter and shouts of joy rang in her ears as they walked back up to the castle. Yara and Theon walked a few steps ahead of Sansa, pushing and shoving playfully, hair dripping seawater onto the shoulders of their tunics. The little girl laughed at the silliness of her two friends.

But then she frowned. They reminded her so much of Robb and Jon and how they use to play together. She missed her brothers with an ache in her heart. She was sad that with each passing day, she felt the memories of them fading away. She had trouble picturing them when she closed her eyes. She had trouble picturing her mother and father as well. Images of her mother began to he replaced with Alannys's face. Her heart felt heavy at this realization.

"Come on, Sansa. We have to hurry back to get ready for the feast." Theon explained to her as he crouched down with his back to her offering a ride up to the castle. With a smile returning to her face, she leapt onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. He hooked his hands around and under her knees as they quickly trudged up the rocky terrain. He smelled of salt and something sweet as she nuzzled her chin into the crook of his neck.

She closed her eyes and imagined Theon was her prince, one from her storybooks whisking her off to safety. She turned her head and rested her cheek on his shoulder, eyes still closed, and squeezed him just a little tighter. She felt him squeeze her leg in return.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

That evening there was a huge feast in the great hall to celebrate the return of Prince Rodrik, heir to the Iron Islands. He had still been on the mainland securing the Riverlands for his father since the end of the rebellion.

Sansa was nervously excited because she had been told her Uncle Edmure Tully would be attending the feast and visiting Pyke for a while. She had never met her uncle, but remembered some of the stories her mother told of her brother.

Alannys was in Sansa's chamber making sure she looked just right for her uncle. She spoke to Sansa about how important it was for her uncle to see her well looked after because he would send word to her mother and father confirming her safety and security. Sansa nodded dutifully as the queen tied her new blue-gray ribbons in her hair. They matched her new dress which matched her eyes. Her long fiery braid of hair stood out brightly against the blue.

She thought for a moment that she looked like the princess in the book about the Kraken Prince. She hoped Theon would notice. He read that book to her all the time. It had become one of her favorites, too.

"You look lovely, little red wolf. Let us go see how the little lady kraken is fairing," the Queen said to Sansa through the mirror. The little girl stood up and placed her hand into Alannys's one with the beautiful pearl ring she always admires. The queen told her that Balon, back when he was a prince, had pulled the pearl from the sea for her. He had a blacksmith fashion it into a ring in his hope's of winning her favor. Sansa tried hard to imagine Balon as a young prince wooing Alannys. It was a nearly impossible task.

As they walked into the passageway, they could hear shouting from the direction of Yara's chamber. "Do not put that ribbon anywhere near my hair! I will not put the dress on. I don't care if I'm the princess of the entire world, I'm not wearing it!"

As they opened the door and entered, Sansa could see Yara was still only in her shift. Yara turned to look at her mother, red faced with anger. And then she looked down at her little friend half hiding behind her mother's skirts, staring back at her with frightened eyes. Her face softened and the red began to dissipate.

"Sansa, I'm sorry if I scared you," she spoke as she walked toward her and leaned in at her eye level. "Let me look at what my mother has made for you." Yara slipped her hand into Sansa's and pulled her out from behind Alannys. She lifted her hand and gave the little girl a spin.

"What a beautiful color with your red hair! You look just like a fairy tale princess. Mother, you outdid yourself."

"And have you even tried on the dress I made you?" Alannys looked at her daughter, one eyebrow raised. Yara looked down and shook her head.

"I thought maybe for one night you could humor your old mother and your little friend here and we could all make a grand entrance as the elegant ladies of Pyke. I know you do not like gowns, Yara, but you have duties and responsibilities that go with your title, privilege, and station. Part of that is being strong and a force to be reckoned with but part of that is also being diplomatic and understanding there is a time and place for formality. There will be a young unmarried lord with us for a while and tonight is a first impression. I am not saying you will be marrying any time soon, but you have come of age and your body is blossoming into a fine young woman, that we must be thinking ahead."

Yara looked as if she were fighting back tears. She quickly turned away and walked to the bed, picking up the black gown her mother had made. She turned back to face them, looking down at the bodice, running her fingers along the gold embroidery that shimmered in the light. She looked at Sansa, who smiled right back at her, excited to see her older friend in a beautiful gown. Yara smiled back and handed the gown to her chambermaid, signaling that she was ready to get dressed.

As the gown settled on Yara's body and the chambermaid began lacing the back of the bodice, Sansa gave out a little gasp of wonder. The queen had embroidered a golden kraken on the center of the bodice, its tentacles winding up each side of the neckline. The bodice almost looked like the leather armor worn by the ironborn. Yara looked fierce and strong in the dress. And beautiful, too.

Sansa ran toward her looking up at her face. "You are such a beautiful princess, Yara!" And she leapt into her skirts with a giant tight hug. She could feel Yara's arms wrap around her back and return the tight hug.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Theon bond. Secrets are revealed to the children that horrify them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is physical child abuse in this chapter. It is brief.
> 
> UPDATE: 2/05/2020 - I changed the maester's name from Wyndamyr to Qalen after reading Clash of Kings and discovering that Qalen was the maester Theon remembered from his childhood but found he had died while he was at Winterfell.
> 
> Ages:  
Sansa - 6  
Theon - 10  
Yara - 13  
Rickon - Under 1
> 
> Note about the author: I have only read the first two books. I do not have a military background. I will try my best to make the story, characters, and plot as realistic to the GoT world as I can but I may make some decisions that don't seem plausible for some. I am not trying to do this purposefully. Also, I take your feedback into deep consideration as I make future decisions with the story so your comments are greatly appreciated. Some of them really get me to think harder and research deeper. Thank you!

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Year 291 AC

Sticking her nose close to the flaky golden crust, she inhaled the savory scent of the onion pie. It had been Sansa's favorite dish at Pyke. She was not so crazy about the fish stew and often the smell of it made her sick and reminded her of being trapped in that cabin on her voyage to the island.

As a ward, King Balon would not allow her to sit on the dais with the family at the more formal meals held in the Great Hall. She usually minded because she wanted to sit with Yara and Theon, but tonight she was happy to be sitting with her Uncle Edmure. He looked so much like her mother, made facial expressions just like she did, she could feel her memories coming to her more easily. Her young uncle smiled a kind smile and told her lots of long stories about their family, her mother, and Aunt Lyssa. Sansa just sat smiling back and listening, prompting more stories with her questions.

As she savored the buttery crust of the onion pie on her tongue, she glanced up at the dais and noticed Theon looking right at her. One corner of his mouth went up in a smirk and he wiggled his fingers in a wave at her. Her heart felt warm as she smiled back shyly and then he turned his attention to his older brothers who must have been telling stories just like her uncle.

She had only seen Prince Maron a couple of times since joining the Greyjoys and this was her first time seeing Prince Rodrik. They both were big rough brutes who looked a lot like their father whereas Yara was a blend of her parents and Theon looked a lot like his mother. The biggest difference between the older and younger Greyjoy children was the fact that she had yet to see Maron or Rodrik smile unless it was to make a jape at Theon and Yara's expense. It was hard for her to understand because all she could ever picture Theon doing was smiling and smirking.

The older princes had straight black hair that looked greasy like their father's own. Their skin was sun-darkened and rough looking from years at sea. She wondered when Yara and Theon would have to go to sea. She wondered if she would have to go to sea and the thought made her nauseous. Rodrik and Maron were not much older than Yara. Suddenly, Sansa began to worry that even her new friends would leave her one day.

"Sansa, has anyone told you? You have a new brother!" Her uncle exclaimed, pulling her out of her thoughts. Had she heard him right? She looked at him with shock. "Well, that look tells me no one has told you. You mother gave birth to a baby boy a few months ago. They named him Rickon."

She smiled at him and then continued to pick at the pie crust stuck to her plate. She was determined to get every buttery piece she could. Just as she was about to dwell on the sadness of missing her family and how she thought they were trying to replace her, she heard the sound of harp strings being plucked on the other side of the smoky hall. She got up on her knees and pushed herself forward, straining to see where the beautiful sound was coming from.

"Would you like to sit closer to the bard, little wolf?" Sansa quickly looked behind her to find Theon standing there in a bow, his hand outstretched for her to take.

"Oh, yes please!" She shouted with a big grin, clapping her hands in excitement. She jumped off the bench and grabbed his hand. "Please excuse me, Uncle." She turned back and curtseyed toward Edmure.

"Of course, go and enjoy yourself," he said as he turned and looked up at the dais, sipping on his wine. She thought he must have caught his eye on Yara's beautiful kraken dress. She would have to agree with him that it was a lovely dress to look at.

Theon enfolded his hand around hers, pulling her this way and that through the crowded hall until they came to an open space in front of a man seated on a stool. He was holding the most beautiful instrument Sansa had ever seen. She could see shells and mermaids carved into the wood.

To the side of the hall under an arch she saw that Yara had left the dais and was now leaning on a pillar, a cup of wine in her hand, chatting with a pretty girl who had come with her uncle's party. Yara looked over at Sansa and gave her a smile and a nod and then turned back to talk closely with her new friend.

Theon sat on the floor in front and pulled Sansa down next to him, her skirts billowing out around her and onto him. She giggled with excitement as she looked up at the boy next to her. He looked down at her with a big grin and then leaned into her hair, talking softly into her ear. "He is going to sing songs about princes and princesses and love just like your favorite books."

Sansa's eyes got wide, her grin from ear to ear, and she gently clapped with excitement as Theon pulled back and looked at her face, his grin still there. She couldn't tell if he was happy about the music just like her or if he was happy because she was happy. As the bard began to play, Theon turned to watch. Sansa glanced down at her hand, still firmly wrapped in his. She felt her cheeks get warm. For the first time ever, she wanted to kiss a boy.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

"Sansa, I'm going to find you! Just because your small and have more places to hide doesn't mean I can't figure it out," Theon shouted up the twisting stairs of the Sea Tower in the castle. She couldn't help but let out a giggle from the little nook she found under one set of stairs. "I heard that." She heard him say, his grin audible through his words.

Her uncle had been staying at Pyke for a week now, trying to get an audience in private with the king. When Balon finally made time, he invited Edmure to his solar in the Sea Tower. Edmure insisted his swornsword accompany him. Balon, in turn, insisted Sansa venture out to the tower as well as a way of parading her in front of her uncle as a reminder, assigning Theon to watch her in the treacherous tower.

When they got out to the tower, Balon and Prince Rodrik were already in the king's solar. Edmure asked Theon to keep Sansa occupied but make sure she was safe.

Now, as Sansa waited for Theon to find her under the stairs, she could hear her uncle pleading with Balon.

"Your grace, I beg of you on behalf of my sister and her family. Please let Lady Sansa return to Winterfell where she belongs. They have pledged House Stark to you as my father has pledged House Tully. Lady Stark has a newborn child and--"

"Just another bastard I need to kill to ensure House Stark's obedience."

"Your grace, Lord Stark has already lost his two eldest sons to the war--"

"And now he has two more to lose. The girl stays here. I have taken her as a salt wife for one of my sons. In seven or so years, she will be Rodrik's if he so chooses and Stark can suffer knowing his eldest daughter, his pride and joy, is nothing but a concubine only fit to bear children and nothing more."

The tears had already been flowing down Sansa's face at hearing her older brothers were dead. At the last bit she heard, she let out a small wail filled with fear. She felt someone wrap their arms across her back and around her shoulder and looked over to see Theon scooping her out from her hiding place, holding her in his arms. She saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before. She saw a darkness. He was shaking with anger as he rocked her and shushed gently in her ear. She was trying with all her power to keep her crying silent.

"Come, Sansa. Let's get out of here," he whispered firmly in her ear. He grasped her hand and led her down the stairs and across the scary rope bridge, and then across two more stone bridges. When they finally made it back to the to the Great Keep, Theon searched for his mother, calling out for her, Sansa still gripped in his hand. By this time, Sansa could see tears welling up in his eyes. She could tell he was fighting them back.

They found her in the Great Hall by the fire. By now she was standing looking worriedly at the two of them. "Theon, dear, what is it?"

"Mother, he said terrible things. T-t-terrible things about S-sansa. H-he can't give her to Rodrik. He can't. She is too little. She is too sweet and kind. She doesn't deserve to be a salt wife. She deserves to be someone's rock wife one day." The tears were now flowing down his cheeks as he held his chin up, head high, sticking up for Sansa even though she did not fully understand what it all meant.

"Oh, Theon," his mother spoke with sympathy as she reached out to wipe away his tears.

She looked down at Sansa with loving eyes and in that moment, the little girl sobbed as Alannys gathered her up in her arms and Sansa pulled her hand from Theon and wrapped her arms around the queen's neck.

"M-m-my brothers are dead!" She wailed into Alannys' shoulder. Her breathing was rough and heaving. After a minute or so, her face was a mess of tears and snot.

"Theon Greyjoy!" Boomed an angry grizzly voice from the other end of the hall. Balon was storming across the room toward them, his long coat flowing wide behind him. "You stupid dolt. You miserable weak excuse for a son. You had one simple job to do and you couldn't do it. Now look what you've done to that girl!"

Theon began to reel back on his heels toward his mother, putting his arms up to shield his head. Balon swung and hit him in the ear and Theon went down.

"Theon!," cried Sansa as she released Alannys' neck and reached out for him.

Balon kicked Theon in the gut as he laid on the ground. He grabbed him by his shirt and lifted his face within an inch of his own.

"All you had to do was keep her occupied so she wouldn't hear things she didn't need to hear. How will I ever trust you with one of my ships let alone a whole fleet?!" Balon went to punch him a second time but was stopped when Sansa grabbed onto his forearm and pulled it downward with all her weight.

"Don't hurt him. Don't hurt him," she screamed. Balon shook her off his arm like a fly and gave one last hit to Theon, right in his nose. Blood began dripping down Theon's face as the king dropped him to the ground.

"And you," he said glaring at his wife."This is what happens when you show too much affection to your children and your ward."

Sansa saw her Uncle Edmure standing at the end of the hall, watching everything unfold.

Balon stormed out of the room and Alannys quickly knelt down to cradle Theon's head in her lap. She urgently told Helya, the steward, to run and get Maester Qalen.

Sansa knelt down on the other side of her friend. She slid her little hand in his and he gripped it tight.

"I am so sorry, Theon. This is my fault," she said quietly, cringing as she looked as his crooked nose.

"Sansa, it's not your fault," he spit out through the blood running over his lips. "I will always protect you." With that, they both squeezed each other's hand a little bit harder. That was the second time Sansa wanted to kiss a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will take a bit longer to write. There are major plot decisions to make. I am also trying to decide if I should start doing some Theon POV chapters. I think it would help to reveal more of what is going on in Westeros since Sansa is essentially a prisoner on an island. Thanks for reading. I'm really enjoying writing this.
> 
> Update: You guys, I had to make a timeline. I'm working hard in getting this right. I have never made a timeline for my fanfic before but I am really loving this storyline and want it to line up pretty good with the show. Problem is very little is known about what happened in the 9 years between the Greyjoy Rebellion and Season 1 other than a really warm and long summer. Next chapter will be coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Yara develop a plan to protect Sansa. Theon leaves the islands to become a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 6  
Theon - 10  
Yara - 13

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

"Oh, brave prince, thank you for saving me from that tower. The Evil Butcher would surely have made me marry him and I would much rather marry you," Sansa tilted her favorite doll, the one her mother made with the beautiful little gown, and pressed it up against the prince doll with the kraken sigil on his chest that Yara had made for her, making a kissing sound with her puckered lips.

She was sitting on the floor in front of the fire in her chamber, her dolls and small toys spread out around her. Over the last two years, Yara and Theon had fashioned her dolls and pieces of wood shaped like furniture for her to play, reenacting her favorite books and using her imagination.

Theon use to play with her but lately since he was preparing to go to sea with his brother Rodrik, he was spending more time in the training yard. And Yara was also spending more time there in the hopes her father would let her sail as well.

Theon smiled as he watched her play from outside her chamber door. This little girl with fire for hair had made herself a little place in his heart. He had never felt responsible for another person until she came around. He loved her like he loved his sister. Finding out his father's plans for her broke his heart.

He wished there was some way to make her Ironborn so she could be a rock wife and be treated the way she deserved. He had seen salt waves on the islands. He had heard of what happened to Uncle Victarion's salt wife. Theon feared that Uncle Euron could come back and do the same to Sansa.

During the rebellion for independence, his Uncle Euron Greyjoy had raped his Uncle Victarion's salt wife. Victarion Greyjoy was mad with grief and anger. When he discovered she was pregnant by Euron, rather than be a kinslayer, he killed his salt wife and gave her to the sea. His father banished Euron and Victarion had never been the same, rarely speaking a word let alone being seen by family. It made Theon sad every time he saw his ghost of an uncle.

Theon had to protect Sansa. Maybe she could go back home to her family. He would miss her but he wanted her to be safe and happy. She had a sadness to her. He could only imagine how sad he would be if he were taken away from his mother and Yara and all he knew on Pyke. But he was being taken away, he realized.

In the two years she had been with them, Sansa had bonded tightly with his family, except Balon and his brothers of course. Balon was barely tolerable to his own flesh and blood and his brothers were hardly ever there but when they were they acted like she was invisible. They occasionally made rude comments and called her the little wolf bitch, sometimes speaking about her as if she wasn't in the room.

He had thought about talking to his Uncle Aeron, a Drowned Man who served the Drowned God, asking him if there was a way to make someone Ironborn. If Sansa had to stay here, maybe being seen as Ironborn would give her a better life. She could marry and be respected as a freeborn, maybe even freeing her from having to marry one of his miserable brothers.

He had been asking Uncle Rodrik questions about the Old Ways, not just because of Sansa but also because he was about to go to sea and experience reaving for the first time. He was afraid he wouldn't be brave enough to pay the Iron Price for things. Uncle Rodrik had an extensive library at the Ten Towers and was known as Rodrik the Reader. In hearing his nephew's question, he gave him some books on the Old Ways.

As he watched Sansa playing in front of the fire in her chamber, he became curious about the books and headed back to his chamber.

On his desk were a handful of large books. He slowly read the titles, slipping each one off and onto the top of another. The last book looked newer. The cover said The Life of Lord Quellon. Theon got excited. Why would Uncle Rodrik put this in with books about the Old Ways? He grabbed it and jumped onto his bed, kicking off his boots to the floor and sitting up against the headboard.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

"What do you know of our Grandfather Quellon?" He and Yara were swimming just off the beach, Sansa playing in the sand on the shore a few yards away.

"Not much. Why?" Yara replied quickly as if it was nothing.

"Did he and our father get along very well?"

"I don't know, Theon. I was just a baby when he died." She said with annoyance in her tone.

"I mean, have you ever heard anything about them disagreeing or father changing laws, changing ways after he died?"

"What are you getting at?" She said, looking directly at him, eyes squinted, expression curious.

"So, I read that our grandfather was a great reformer. He worked his entire reign to bring the Iron Islands into harmony with, closer to the rest of Westeros."

"Yah, I heard father grumbling about him being soft. That the iron in us all would have died if we kept following his laws."

"That makes sense," Theon paused and glanced over to the little girl with her red hair glowing in the sun, digging a trench in the sand for the waves to fill with water, a huge grin across her face. She was becoming more kraken with every day.

"What makes sense?"

"Grandfather Quellon ended The Old Ways. He freed the thralls, forbid reaving for the most part, brought maesters to Pyke," he looked again at Sansa on the beach as he said the next part. "No salt wives. And rock marriages with green landers was encouraged."

Yara followed Theon's gaze to their little friend on the beach. "You've been trying to find ways to save her from Rodrik, haven't you?"

"Yes," he stated as he hung his head down. Then he raised back up to look his sister right into the face. "But it's more than that, Yar. I like what he did. I think it would be good for the islands, the right and just thing. Did you know he spent time in Essos fighting slavers? He was a good man, Yara. Someone to be proud of."

"That all sounds wonderful, Theon, but you and I will never rule and I highly doubt Rodrik or Maron would go for Quellon's reforms."

Theon let out a sigh, glanced at Sansa again, and then back to his sister. "We can at least hope. We can at least try to persuade them. In the mean time, what are we going to do to protect her?" His brow scrunched up in the center as his eyes pleaded with his sister for help.

It was Yara's turn to let out a sigh. She looked to the little girl who had become her sister in all but blood. Theon knew she loved her like he did. "We have to train her to fight. She must know how to wield a dagger to protect herself in this place when we are not around. If Euron--"

"I know. I know. It makes me sick to think about it." He shook his head looking down into the water.

"We also need to show father and the others that she is valuable beyond making babies, that she is strong and can fight and pull her own if ever on a ship."

"Right. Show them she is becoming both kraken and wolf." Theon looked straight at his sister with determination.

Yara smiled at him and tilted her head. "Yes, exactly. Both kraken and wolf." Yara turned to look at the little girl now bounding through the waves to reach her friends, the grin she had all morning at the beach still on her face.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Dagmer Cleftjaw, the master-at-arms, had been difficult to convince. It took a few weeks but he eventually agreed to train Sansa in archery. He made sure to let Theon know he would share responsibility for her lessons whenever he was home. Dagmer wasn't very fond of Euron, either, and agreed that as the girl got older and grew into her womanly beauty, she was in danger. He laughed at the thought of Euron being killed by a dagger in the hand of a lady wolf. So he let Yara use the yard to train Sansa in hand-to-hand combat with a small dagger.

"Does your father know you are asking for this?" He gruffly said, looking at the prince and princess standing before him, as the smiles faded and they both looked down in the dirt.

"No."

"Well, you'd do best not to let him know. If he finds out, I know nothing. It was all you," he looked at them as if pointing one eye in their direction, waiting for a response.

"Agreed!"

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

He was fighting tears all morning. He couldn't let his father see or he would definitely get one in the side of the head. If he showed weakness, Balon might even make Rodrik keep him out at sea even longer and he wasn't sure how long he could take being away from his mother and Yara and Sansa, too.

This whole thing seemed like his father's way of getting back at his mother for showing him love and affection. Yara had told him there was a time when their older brothers were a bit more like him and they played with her similar to the way he played with Sansa. He told her he was afraid he would come back like them, cold and mean and crass and unlovable. She reassured him he was different from them and she couldn't imagine him coming back like that.

His father had tried to keep the ladies from going to the dock with them, but Alannys would hear none of it. He saw anger and sadness in her eyes as she sternly and forcefully denied his father's orders.

Now he stood on the top of the stone wall, the row boats below being loaded by the crew, the Black Wind out in the distance. The day was gray filled with fog just beyond the large ship, a light mist cooling his face.

"Come on, little brother. Let's get this over with," Yara snarled. He turned to see her giving the classic Greyjoy smirk but with care and love in her eyes. He stepped into her, wrapping his arms around her torso and pressing his cheek onto her chest. She set her chin on top of his head as she wrapped her arms around his shoulder. "I suppose next time I see you I might be the shortest of the four of us." They both chuckled, Theon feeling the shake of her body.

Then she leaned down with her mouth near his ear and whispered, "You be strong. Remember who you are. Remember you are not a cold dead thing with no feelings. Remember you have people who truly love you. Remember you are good, Theon Greyjoy. You have our grandfather in you. You have our mother in you. I love you, little brother."

He took in a deep breath struggling to keep the tears at bay. He had never been away from his sister for more than a day or two when one of them would visit Harlaw. She was so strong, strong for the both of them. He wasn't sure he could be that strong without her.

Then there were arms wrapping around both of their legs. They looked down to see Sansa squeezing them with all her might, eyes shut tight, tears escaping the corners. Theon and Yara chuckled again.

As Yara released Theon he got up on his toes and whispered in her ear, "Protect her, Yara." Yara nodded as she stepped back toward her mother and put her arm around the weeping woman's shoulder.

Theon knelt down and returned Sansa's hug. "Be a good girl. Mind mother and Yara. They will always take good care of you."

"Who will read me books? Give me rides on their back? Pick me up when I skin my knee. Hold my hand when I'm scared?" the little girl sniffled through her tears.

"Soon you will be strong enough for yourself and won't need someone else. I will write you letters and tell you stories of my adventures. In no time you will be reading them yourself and you can read them to mother. She will need your comfort."

"I will miss you so so so so much, Theon."

He picked up her little hand and kissed the back of it, looking into her mesmerizing ice blue eyes. He saw her cheeks go red as she tilted her head down to the ground and then turned her eyes back up at his. How he would miss her looking at him with those eyes.

Suddenly, she leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his cheek and then quickly ran behind his mother's skirts. He could feel himself smiling for the first time all morning, the power this little girl had over him, it was amazing.

He stood and turned to look at his mother, her face red and puffy from hours of crying. She fell towards him and he was engulfed in her, hair whipping around his head, arms around his torso, skirts billowing around his legs. He breathed her in, trying to memorize every sense of her, her sweet smell, her warm touch, the salt of her tears running onto his own face, the brightness of her soul, the sound of her voice as she whispered to him similar words Yara had, "Do not forget who you are, Theon Greyjoy. You are not like them. Do not let them change you. Remember I love you. Your sister loves you. The little wolf loves you. We will be waiting for your return."

Theon did not take his eyes off of them as the rowboat took him out to the ship. They did not take their eyes off of him. His heart felt full with love and sadness at the same time. He realized he was no longer a little boy. He would be expected to be a man under his brother's command.

As soon as he got on the deck of the Black Wind, he ran to the railing to catch one last look at his family. They were still there, watching him. He raised his hand to his cheek where he could still feel the kiss from the little red wolf who stole a piece of his heart that he was glad to leave with her on Pyke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is starting to take a little longer to get these out. We are getting more into plot and I need to make sure things are lining up for the future the way I'm picturing. This story will definitely be a very slow burn.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa dreams and Yara comforts her. Theon learns about sailing and the Old Ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter includes sexual assault and child abuse.
> 
> Ages:  
Sansa - 7  
Theon - 11  
Yara - 14

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Year 292 AC

She looked out from the beach and into the water, the waves flowing in past Theon, cresting and crashing in front of her. Theon was cradling something fleshy and pink, parts of it wrapping around his arms. He looked up at her with that smirk of his, his piercing sea green eyes reaching deep into her heart, stirring feelings of warmth and safety. She waved to him, calling him in to the shore.

She heard a howling down the beach pulling her gaze away from Theon. There was her brother, Robb, a larger than life wolf standing beside him. He was grinning at her. Again, sending her feelings of warmth and safety. She felt something lick her hand and looking down, saw her wolf, the one always by her side in her dreams. She ran her fingers through wolf's fur lovingly and looked back up toward Robb to see Theon standing next to him, the squid-like creature holding tightly, now wrapped around his arms and shoulders and across his chest like armor. They both looked at her, a grin and a smirk, and turned away to walk together down the beach. She felt an unsettling darkness creep in from the sea. Panicking, she shouted after them, trying her best to run through the dry sand. She couldn't seem to catch up. The wolf by her side whimpered and she looked back down at her. The wolf was tugging at her clothing, trying to pull her up and away from the beach, away from the darkness on the sea. When Sansa looked back up, the boys were gone. She stood alone on the beach yelling for them.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder shaking her gently, a familiar voice saying her name, trying to soothe her.

"Sansa, it's just a dream. You're dreaming. You are alright. Wake up, Sans," Yara's voice rang in her ears. Her eyes shot open and there was Yara's face glowing in the flicker of candlelight right in front of her, a worried look on her face.

She realized she was in her chamber at Pyke. Yara put her arm around her and shushed in her ear, smoothing her hair down the back of her head. Tears were streaming down Sansa's cheeks, dropping heavily onto her shift.

"You're dreaming of your brothers again?" Yara whispered.

"Yes, well, no, well sort of," she stammered out in confusion. "I saw Theon this time. He was with Robb. But I didn't see Jon." She frowned, wondering what this could mean. When she first came to Pyke three years ago, she constantly dreamed of chasing her brothers and watching them disappear in opposite directions. The dreams had begun to fade until Theon left. Since he had been gone, she had begun to see him in those dreams, disappearing in the distance. This time she saw him with Robb. She knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her, a sad girl missing people she loved. But she never dreamed of her mother or father or her little sister or little brothers. Yara also had never been in her dreams.

"You probably just miss them both very much. Don't think too much about it. Before you know it, Theon will be back at Pyke with us," Yara softly spoke as she got up to tuck Sansa back in.

"Don't go, Yara. Can you stay with me? I'm afraid of the dark and the fire has already gone out," Sansa said desperately, grabbing her friend's wrist as she pulled her blankets up.

"Alright," Yara smirked and slid under the blankets next to her, laying her head on a pillow. The two laid face to face, big hand wrapped around little hand wrapped around big thumb. Sansa felt a wave of relief and comfort wash over her as her eyelids got heavy and she returned to sleep.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

This was his favorite place to be on all of the ship. Up here, looking out across the sea, watching whales break the surface for air, spotting nearby coasts, all while trimming the sails. Even in the rain or rough seas, he didn’t mind being up high. It was his only chance to truly be alone with his thoughts on the crowded ship, his brother bearing down on him, working him to the bone, telling him father did the same thing for him at his age.

Rodrik was cruel just like his father. He got no reprieve from the physical abuse on the Black Wind. It was actually worse. Rodrik loved making his cruel japes at Theon and encouraged his crew to follow suit. Being the newest member of the crew, Theon seemed to be the main focus of their barbarity. One time when his brother found him crying in storage behind some barrels below deck, he told him to toughen up, that all this would make him a true Ironborn leader. And then he proceeded to bend him over one of the barrels, yank down his trousers, and hit him on the arse repeatedly with a broom handle until he broke skin. He told Theon if he was going to cry like a wee bairn, he would get smacked on the arse like a wee bairn. Theon couldn’t sit down for almost a week after that.

His first time up to trim the sails was frightening but once he realized, no one would bother him while he was up there, he grew fond of the task. As he worked, he would think about his mother, his sister, and Sansa. He wondered how long it would be before he returned home to see them. How much more grown would his little friend be? Would she still remember him? Would she still let him read her stories and hold her hand when she’s scared? Or would she be too old for those things? Would she still look at him the same way with those crystal blue eyes?

The rest of his days were filled with running messages from one end of the ship to the other, helping the cook prepare meals below deck and then bringing the food above to where the seamen ate. He was a quick study, learning all about the different lines, ropes, and sails. He loved learning how the ship operated and got excited dreaming about the day when he would captain his own vessel.

Sometimes, on a very clear day with the warm sun beating down, Rodrik would have him stand at the helm, holding the wheel, keeping the ship on course. It was these small moments where he felt the tiniest bit of affection from his oldest brother.

Working on the ship out at sea was the most exhausting thing Theon had ever done, but he could feel his body getting stronger, his muscles more pronounced. He was growing out of his clothes and boots quickly as he got taller. For how rough the experience was, he felt older, more mature. Like he was gaining a better understanding of the world. He could handle the physical abuse because he knew it wouldn’t last forever and his experience on this ship was a means to an end, to his own freedom and manhood.

But things changed for Theon when they dropped anchor off of a small sea village in Essos. Rodrik told him to stay on the ship as a handful of his men rowed to shore. Theon could hear the screams of terror echo out across the water from the small town. Within a few hours, Rodrik and his crew returned with the spoils of their reaving, blood staining their clothes, streaked across their faces. Rodrik came aboard with a frightened young woman who looked to be maybe just a few years older than their sister. It made Theon sick to his stomach. He knew she was being taken as his salt wife and she was not coming along willingly, her wrists bound with rope.

“Take her to my cabin, tie her down, lock her in, and make sure she has food and water,” his brother ordered, shoving the girl toward him. “Stay outside my cabin door until I come below.”

Theon stood there gaping at his brother, the girl in his arms shivering, trembling, dirty tear streaks down her face. “Go! Now, Theon!’ His brother yelled.

As the ship set sail, Theon pulled the girl into Rodrik’s cabin, grabbing a bundle of rope along the way. She stood in the middle of the cabin, staring out the window, shaking with fear. He pushed her down into a chair and began wrapping the rope around her torso and ankles, tying it off in a knot. He had gotten really good at knots over the past year on the ship. She shouldn’t be able to get out of this, but there was a part of him that wanted to make a weaker knot so she could. He cringed thinking about how part of this girl’s fate was in his hands. But to betray the Ironborn and their Old Ways would be the death of all he knew.

Theon locked the door behind him. He ran quickly down to the cook for food and drinking water, hurrying back to his brother’s quarters, grabbing a clean rag on the way. As he unlocked the door, he could hear her jump and struggle in her restraints. He opened the door to see her looking at him with wide eyes, filled with fear.

"I have food and water for you," Theon said shakily. "I-I'm not going to hurt you." He realized he was shaking scared, too. Her silence freaked him out even more. She just stared at him bug-eyed. He brought the cup of water up to her lips and she sipped, water dribbling down her chin and neck.

He broke off a piece of black bread and put it up to her mouth. She took a hesitant bite and began to chew slowly. Theon watched as she tried to swallow. Knowing what was coming, he quickly grabbed the bucket from the corner and put it in her lap. Out came the bread and whatever else she had eaten that day. Theon held the bucket with one hand and used his other hand to wipe back her hair from her face.

When she finally stopped heaving, he set down the bucket and grabbed the rag, dampening it with the water. He wiped the vomit from around her mouth. Gradually, he wiped the dirt and blood from her cheeks and neck. He stepped back and realized that her eyes were no longer wide open in fear. She was crying, tears pouring from her eyes, heaving sobs from deep in her chest.

Theon saw her agony. He knew what was going to happen to her. He didn't know what he could do to stop it. As she bawled, her body convulsing under the ropes, Theon slowly backed out of the cabin and locked the door behind him.

He leaned up against the door, slid down to sit, pulling his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes tight and lowered his face into his palms, pressing them into his eyes, trying to block his own tears from surfacing.

After what seemed like hours, Theon heard footsteps and looked up to see Rodrik looking down at him.

"Go. The cook needs help with the meal." Theon nodded and stood up and away from the door. Rodrik unlocked the door to his cabin. As he went in, he looked back at Theon with a smirk, as if Theon was in on a secret with him. And he was. He just didn't find it amusing. He didn't like being a part of it.

The door closed behind his brother, but Theon couldn't seem to move his feet. He heard her sobs turn to screams. Scuffling, slapping, thumps against the walls and floor, shouting from both of them. And then her screaming gradually turned to sad weeping moans over his brothers grunting. Theon, his hands in fists, nails digging into his palms, couldn't hold the tears back anymore so he ran to his hiding place down below, hoping Rodrik wouldn't find him there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon visits Riverrun and makes some unexpected acquaintances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 8  
Theon - 12  
Yara - 15

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Year 293 AC

Theon wobbled his way down the dock toward the horses. He hadn't set foot on land in months. His brother was taking a party to Riverrun to meet with Lord Tully and other allies. He hadn't wanted to bring Theon with, preferring to leave him on the boat, but Lord Tully had specifically requested the young prince come with his brother upon hearing he was aboard the ship.

It was one of his first chances to see another castle. He was really excited about the opportunity and looked forward to seeing Lord Edmure again. He hoped he would remind him of Sansa, give him some sort of small comfort of home. By this point, his homesickness was all-consuming.

They rode for so long, they had to make camp. This was his first journey on land and he was excited to be sitting near the fire, eating his meal and sleeping under the stars. He was amazed at how the stars looked the same no matter where he was so he imagined he was sitting on the beach at Pyke with his sister and Sansa, each of them pointing out pictures they saw in the night sky. He could almost feel her little fingers slide into his hand and squeeze his thumb, her head leaning on his arm as she looked up to the stars in wonder.

He missed Yara's japes that were almost always followed by a smile and some sort of loving, sisterly touch or hug. He wondered if they had grown as much as he had. He drifted off to sleep picturing his return to Pyke, the three people he loved most waiting for him on the dock.

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The Riverlands were beautiful, undulating sheets of green cut through by dark flowing water. There was no gloom like Pyke and the sun shone warm on his face.

He could see the large structure coming up in the distance. Nothing else they had seen on their journey was quite as impressive. It must be Riverrun. The excitement began to build mixed with a bit of nervousness. He was, after all, a prince of the realm visiting an important family, very important to him. This was Sansa's family.

He realized how wonderful it could be to have family in different kingdoms, allies by blood. How much stronger that could make a family. Sansa may have been from Winterfell, but he knew she had family here, in the Vale, and even an uncle at Castle Black. He only had family in the Iron Islands. No wonder his father's hold over the other regions seemed shaky. The only thing holding it all together was Sansa. He couldn't see how a salt marriage would do anything to strengthen that. His father was so blinded by the Old Ways.

As their party approached the gate to Riverrun, he saw Edmure standing with his family waiting to greet them. He assumed the old man must be Lord Tully. Theon got off his horse and joined his brother at his side. As introductions went around, he noticed a boy behind Edmure. He leaned to get a better look at the boy and froze. There, looking back at him, were her eyes, Sansa's ice-blue eyes. The boy looked so much like Sansa it shocked him. He couldn't move.

"Prince Theon, this is my younger brother, Elston Rivers. I believe you are the same age and might enjoy spending some time together while you are here." Theon, still in a bit of shock, nodded his head in agreement. This was another one of Sansa's uncles and a bastard at that. He had not known about this boy. But by the looks of him, there was no doubt he was a Tully.

"Prince Rodrik, if it pleases you, may the boys be excused to go to the training yard together? We do have some business to discuss and it shouldn't burden these two." Lord Hoster asked.

"Mmm," Rodrik said with a cold nod, encouraging Theon to go off with the other boy. Theon looked back at the boy who had a huge grin on his face, eyes sparkling at him in excitement. Her eyes. Her smile.

"Come on. This way," Elston began running away from the greeting party, waving on Theon to follow. Just like her. Elston stopped and looked back at him, "Well?"

Theon shook his head out of his trance and started off in a gallop after the other boy. When they reached the yard, Elston spoke a few quick and quiet words to a man Theon assumed was the master-at-arms. Elston moved over to a rack of weaponry and pulled out two bows and a barrel full of arrows, turning back to look at Theon, again with that huge grin. Her grin. He just couldn't stop seeing Sansa in everything this boy did. He would have to write and tell her about this uncle of hers, one she probably never met.

"So my-um my brother tells me you favor the bow. He says he remembers from his visit that you were quite good," the boy said, seeming a bit unsure of himself.

"Your brother is correct. I love it. Let's have a go!" Theon noticed the master-at-arms had set up targets across the yard for the boys. The two of them began warming up and getting set for target practice.

"My-my brother tells me you spend a lot of time with Sansa. That you look out for her, protect her."

Theon froze at the sound of her name. He felt a lump in his throat, finally fully realizing how much he desperately missed her and Yara and his mother. He hadn't spoken with another soul about his family he loved since the day he left Pyke. No one cared what he felt or had to say their entire time at sea. Now here was a stranger, a boy his age, looking just like the girl who is his sister in all but blood, saying her name out loud, to him, for his ears to hear. And all he could muster to say was, "Mhmm."

The boy put his hand on Theon's shoulder, elbow locked straight. He looked directly into Theon's eyes and with a nod of his head he softly said, "Thank you."

"I will do anything to protect her," Theon finally got the words out of his mouth. At that, Elston gave another nod and released his grip, turning back to his bow.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

He hadn't enjoyed himself this much since he left Pyke. Spending time with Elston was like playing with both Yara and Sansa in one person. It was great to have a sparring partner near his own age. And his friendly smile warmed his heart. The boy was so much like his niece, it was uncanny.

A few days after their arrival at Riverrun, a party from Winterfell arrived. Theon was excited to meet more of Sansa's family at the feast being held for him and his brother that evening. He was nervous, though. While Edmure and Elston had been kind to him, he was nervous that her more immediate family would see him as her captor, just a part of the mean old king's plot against their family.

He had been given his own chambers and it was heavenly sleeping in a near-silent room in a bed instead of a hammock swinging down below deck with dozens of men snoring and shouting out in their nightmares. He stood in the chambers looking at his reflection in the mirror. He made sure he was clean and presentable, the best he'd looked since the last feast at Pyke. He wanted to make a good impression on the Starks trying his best to show that the Greyjoys were not all greasy miserable monsters.

As he entered the great hall, he searched across the room for Elston. That is when he caught sight of her hair. Sansa's hair. The same fiery red cascading down a woman's back. Elston was speaking with her and when he glanced toward Theon, he ran over to greet him. But Theon couldn't take his eyes off the woman as she turned to look in his direction, following Elston. He knew who she was immediately.

This was Sansa's mother, the woman his friend cried for in the middle of the night. The woman she cried for as he and Yara tried to soothe her back to sleep. The woman who gave her looks, her hair, her eyes to her little girl. A deep sadness crept to the front of Theon's heart. An ache he had there for the little girl he cared about deeply.

Elston grabbed his arm and pulled him gently toward her. Theon was so overwhelmed with emotion he couldn't hear a word the boy was saying. He couldn't help but think how unfair it was that he was standing in front of her when it should be Sansa. He was sick to his stomach over the whole thing and his father was responsible for this family's pain.

"This is Prince Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. This is m-my sister, Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell." Theon bowed as he was introduced to the stately woman before him. It was as if he could see into Sansa's future and picture her just as regal as her mother. She deserved the chance at this future, a future as an elegant worldly lady of the realm, not the dingy secluded life of a salt wife.

"I see. Pardon me if I struggle to show the same respect to a Greyjoy," she said coolly. Theon's heart sank.

"M-my sister, Theon is Sansa's friend. He looks out for her, protects her when he is home on Pyke," Elston looked as his sister with pleading eyes, as if trying to will her into trusting the boy she just met.

"Then who is protecting her now, while you are out reaving with your brother?" Another sick lump rose up in Theon's throat.

"My older sister loves her like she loves me. She is watching over her." Theon was beginning to feel defensive, somewhat offended at the tone the woman was taking. Not all Ironborn are like his father, his uncles, his brothers.

He was realizing why his grandfather ended the Old Ways. It was because of this. This look in Lady Stark's eyes toward a boy of twelve she has only just met. Even after her brothers vouched for Theon, she still did not trust him. It hurt him deeply because he knew she was not the only one to feel this way. The Starks were not the only family to be affected. How did his father expect to hold on to power in these lands, to maintain alliances?

"It should be her own sister loving her. She should be protecting her own little sister. It should be her older brother loving her, protecting her. Not you. Not your sister," Lady Stark said in a cold and firm voice, her intense gaze on Theon. She leaned in quietly, "and though I have learned to never trust a Greyjoy I know you did not take my daughter away from us and I thank you for all you have done for her." And with that, she turned and disappeared through the crowd of guests.

Theon looked down at his hands. He felt shame and conflict. He knew his mother would be devastated if he was taken from her but he was offended by the assumptions Lady Stark made about him and his people.

"Your grace, please don't take her words so harshly. She is a mother with a broken heart," Theon looked up at Elston, who was still looking in the direction of Lady Stark's disappearance into the crowd. He thought he could see tears pooling in his eyes. The boy rubbed his eyes and looked down at his feet. "I'm really sorry. My family has been through a lot since, you know, and it is really hard on all of us."

"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for," Theon said with a surprising bite of anger behind his tone. "Let's get some food and enjoy the evening. I see some pretty maidens here. Maybe you can introduce me and we can dance as well." Theon gave his new friend a smirk and saw that grin spread across his face again. Her grin. Her smiling eyes. That little girl had really gotten stuck in his head and his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa comes to the realization that she is a prisoner. Yara realizes she is also a prisoner of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 8  
Theon - 12  
Yara - 15
> 
> My apologies for typos and grammatical errors. Really wanted to get this up and will get to cleaning it up soon. Enjoy!

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

"Your fingers are too stiff. Loosen them just a bit," Dagmer spoke softly behind her as she focused on the target. Sansa inhaled and released the arrow right into the painted center. "You might be better than Theon. He's gonna have some competition when he returns." Dagmer chuckled at the thought, rubbing his gloved hand into the top of the little girl's fiery red hair. “We will definitely start moving you back farther from the target.”

Sansa turned and smiled up at her teacher. The mention of Theon’s name always made her smile, bringing him to focus in her mind during his long absence from Pyke. She would frequently close her eyes tight and work hard to picture him on that day he left two years ago, knelt down face to face with her, his eyes puddles of green about to spill over, his messy sandy brown waves of hair falling down over them. Sometimes when it would be a long time between letters, she would think he had grown too old to care about her. And it had been another one of those long droughts since his last message, leaving a sadness in her little heart of eight years.

“How is our little warrior fairing?” Sansa turned to hear Yara’s voice from across the yard.

“Yara!” She dropped her bow and went over to give her friend a tight hug around her waist, squeezing her eyes closed just as tight. Yara patted her on the head and back.

“Ready for some combat practice, Little Wolf?” She asked as she peeled Sansa off, looking down at her with a smirk.

“Yes. Definitely," Sansa stepped back and stood at attention, arms clasped at her back. She watched as Dagmer nodded to her and then walked out of the yard, putting up his own bow and quiver.

“Well, let’s start where we left off yesterday,” Yara instructed with a serious expression as she tossed her small dagger back and forth between her hands.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

The girls walked up into the Great Keep, hand-in-hand, swinging their arms between one another in big sweeping motions, smiling and giggling as they went.

Upon entering the Great Keep, they saw Alannys sitting by the fire, reading a letter. The girls stopped and looked at each other. “Theon,” they said in unison and ran over to the queen.

“Girls, perfect timing. I was just sitting down to read our new messages from Theon,” Alannys said, smiling with relief toward the girls. “Seems he had the opportunity to travel inland. He got to meet your mother, Sansa.” Alannys held out a scroll toward the younger girl.

Sansa was frozen. Her mother. He saw her mother. She hadn’t received a letter from her family in all her four years at Pyke. At first she thought she might be mad at her, but then she began to suspect Balon was forbidding it. After a moment’s pause, she grabbed the scroll and ran to her chambers.

Not able to wait any longer, the wax sigil already cracked, probably by Balon, she unrolled her letter and stood there reading it in the middle of the room.

_Dearest Little Wolf,_

_I am excited to write to you that I have had the honor of meeting your beautiful mother. You look so much like her. You have her eyes and her red hair. Her regal poise. I wish you had been with me. I wish you both could have held each other, even if for a moment. She loves you deeply and misses you every day._

_I have also made a new friend. Your Uncle Elston Rivers, your mother’s half brother. He looks a lot like you as well. He is the same age as me. It was so enjoyable to spend time with a boy my age. At the feast to honor our visit, he was able to introduce me to some of the young maidens from their loyal houses and we enjoyed an evening of dancing. I had so much fun dancing and cannot wait to take you around the dance floor at the next feast when I return home._

_Hoping you have not forgotten me._

_Theon_

Another Tully uncle? And a bastard? And the same age as Robb and Jon. Why had she never heard of him? She was overwhelmed with envy from this letter. Theon got to see her mother, her family, an uncle she never knew about. The jealousy seemed to extend to the idea of him dancing with young maidens. Of course he would meet some beautiful maiden and fall in love and forget her. She was just a little girl and a hostage at that. She was truly a prisoner, wasn’t she. She was feeling like she would never leave this island.

She stood up, pacing her chamber from one end to the other, her boots stomping on the floor. As she walked by the rug in front of the fire, with her toys strewn about, she grabbed a little wooden chair that Theon had made and threw it as hard as she could into the stone wall, splintering it into pieces all over the room. She knelt down on the ground picking up a doll in each hand, in one the doll her mother made her, in the other the doll Yara made her of the Kraken Prince.

She was enraged to know her Kraken Prince would not be the kind, compassionate, and loving one she might wish for but rather the mean, cold, and uncaring one she was so afraid of. She bellowed out a guttural scream from deep within, leaning her face into the dolls, their clothes absorbing the angry tears escaping her eyes.

There was a knock at her door. "Sansa?"

She could hear the worry in Yara's voice. Sansa lifted her face from the dolls, stood up and walked over to her trunk, the one that came with her from Winterfell all those years ago. She lifted the lid and shoved the dolls under her old clothes until she could no longer see them. Closing the lid, she heard Yara call after her again.

“Come in,” Sansa spoke, biting her anger back, turning to look at the older girl coming through the door.

“Just making sure you are alright. I heard something-,” Yara’s eyes drifted to the small splinters of wood on the floor. “Did Theon write something to upset you? His japing can be so inconsiderate sometimes.”

“No. No,” Sansa shook her head, looking down at her empty hands, palm up, catching tears still flowing. “He was kind and sweet. He did nothing wrong.”

“Is this about your mother?” Yara asked, a hesitation to her question. She closed the chamber door behind her and walked over to sit on the edge of Sansa’s bed. Looking up, Sansa saw her pat the spot next to her and she joined Yara.

They sat there in silence for a while, shoulders touching. Sansa pulled at the ribbon holding the end of her braid together, the braid wrapped over her shoulder and resting on her chest.

“I’m a prisoner, am I not? A hostage.”

Yara enveloped Sansa's hand in her own. She rubbed her thumb in a soothing motion on the back of her little friend’s hand. “I suppose you are.”

The two of them sat staring into the flames licking at the stone of the fireplace.

Sansa rested her head on Yara’s shoulder. Her quiet tears wouldn’t rest. They made a salt water river down the older girl’s sleeve.

“These islands have a lot of prisoners. Sadly, it seems they are mostly women and girls, even the Ironborn,” Yara explained, taking a deep breath, chest heaving with the weight of the truth she was speaking. “My Grandfather Quellon Greyjoy tried to change that, to reform our islands. During his time, the reaving mostly ended, salt wives were forbidden, and the Ironbron were encouraged to marry greenlanders, people from the mainland. He did a lot of good for the islands before he died in Robert’s Rebellion. My father and uncles reversed all that work and now even the princess feels like a prisoner on these islands. I know I’m not a prisoner like you are, but I feel like my father will never let me off the islands. I want to sail like my brothers.”

“Oh, Yar.” Sansa turned her hand upwards and squeezed the older girl’s.

“I don’t want to be trapped here and I don’t want this for you either. I keep thinking-” Yara paused, breathing deep. Sansa looked up at her face. Yara continued almost in a whisper, “I keep thinking if only I could command my own ship in a few years-”

Yara turned and looked right at Sansa. “In a few years, I could take you away from here. Or maybe Theon could. Maybe we could take you back to your family. Maybe we could form alliances with the North and bring my grandfather’s reforms back. I just need to get on a ship, get off the islands, get out in the world. Be your kraken princess that saves you from the towers of Pyke.” At this, Sansa wrapped her arms around Yara, who had shown her more sisterly love than anyone in her life. She barely had memories of little Arya. She imagined her being a lot like Yara, but she didn’t know her. Balon had stolen that from her.

Yara pulled her back and looked right into her eyes, a serious expression on her face. “Do not speak a word of this to anyone. I will find a way to free you. We, Theon and I, will find a way for you to be free. It may take a long time, but we will do all we can.” Yara returned her little friend’s embrace.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

She had been so angry at Theon and his letter, but speaking with Yara made her realize who her true enemy was. She tried her best to avoid Balon, and by extension Maron, at all costs. Maron was rarely at Pyke, but he seemed to come home more frequently than his older brother. When she did get caught passing him in the corridors, the way he looked at her sent shivers down her spine. Sometimes when she was sitting with the family during evening meals, he would walk behind her and lift strands of her hair, playing with the ends between his fingers. She couldn’t see his face, but the looks on Yara and Alannys told her it wasn’t good. They both stopped eating and looked at him as if sending daggers from their eyes. Balon would continue eating or conversing as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening at all. Sansa tried taking her meals in the Kitchen Keep when Maron was around, only for him to find his way to her, grabbing her hair in a more forceful manner, the castle servants all looking down into their food with fright on their faces.

It was because of Maron that she found herself one morning up high in the Great Keep, sitting at a window looking out at the sea, tearing bits off the bread she snagged from the kitchen, eating slowly as she enjoyed the breeze, not worrying about anyone finding her in her hiding spot.

The sky was especially clear for Pyke and the days just kept getting warmer since she left Winterfell. She chose this window and this view because it gave her a great view of the direction in which Theon’s ship had disappeared two years earlier. That is when she found this window in this forgotten room. She had stacks of books on the broken chair by the hearth. Parchment and charcoal for drawing spread on the floor in front of her. She had gotten pretty good at drawing the view out of that window, the towers, the beach, the cliffs, the town, the sea. She hid most of her drawings under or in the books on the chair, occasionally leaving some in Theon’s chamber on his desk for his return. She even gave a few to Yara and Alannys.

On that warm, clear day, she looked out on the horizon and saw a large ship heading toward Pyke. She didn’t see a ship that size very often, especially not ones with the kraken sigil on the sails. Looking closer, she squinted her eyes to see better. That was definitely a Greyjoy ship. The last time she had seen a ship like this was the day Theon left.

She stood straight up, staring out the window at the ship. It had to be the Black Wind. As soon as she realized this, she was leaping over broken furniture and out the chamber door, skidding down stone stairs, her trousers making the endeavor quicker without tripping over skirts.

"It's Theon! It's Theon!" She shouted as she ran through the Great Hall where Balon and Alannys had been sitting by the hearth. She was soon out the keep toward the road to the dock, the king shouting after her, Yara running up on her side, slowing her long legged strides and settling in with Sansa's pace. They both ran with huge smiles across their faces, looking at each other every so often, laughter and giggles bursting from their lips, their braided hair lapping at their backs, loose tendrils streaked straight back from the force of their speed.

Sansa could see the ship now anchored off the dock, row boats lowering to the water, filled with men and cargo. As they rounded the final bends in the road, she could make him out on one of the boats. "Yara, it's him. It's him!"

"Theon!" Yara shouted out across the water as the girls pulled back their pace along the dock. They both stopped, lungs heaving, hands to their knees, attempting to catch their breath as they watched the row boats approach, smiles still plastered on their faces.

She could see him clearly, standing on the boat, grinning back at them. There was no smirking. Just a smile of pure joy on his face. He was the first off the boat, climbing up onto the dock, tackling the girls to the ground with a hug, one in each arm. Their collective laughter rang out across the water and echoed off the cliffs.

He pulled back off the girls and sat up, arms resting on his bent knees. As the girls sat upright, they all looked back at each in amazement. Theon was bigger. They all were bigger.

Theon looked handsome and strong, Sansa thought. His skin was darker, his hair lighter and longer. She watched his face as he reached over to Yara with another hug. And then he looked right at her, his eyes sparkling like the sea. He reached out his hand and pushed a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm, lifting her hand to his. What she felt was a rush, relief, warmth, safety, happiness, love, gratefulness, everything all wrapped together in his touch.

"By the Drowned God, look how much you have grown," he exclaimed, his hand still on her cheek.

"And look how much you have grown." They all looked up to see Alannys looking down at her youngest son.

Theon scrambled up and encircled his mother in his strong arms, burying his face in her shoulder. "Mother." He said softly, the word muffled through her clothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently rewatched s1e03. Ned gets Sansa a doll in King's Landing and 13yo Sansa says to him that she hasn't played with dolls since she was 8. I had already written that she was hiding her dolls in her trunk and now I know they will stay there for a long time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's dreams uncover hidden memories that may change everything. She and Theon strengthen their bond. Yara and Theon's plans to protect Sansa are in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 9  
Theon - 13  
Yara - 16
> 
> I made some adjustments a day after posting to the interactions between Sansa and Theon to seem more age appropriate.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Year 294 AC

She was in the carriage again, on her toes, peering out of the bottom edge of the window in the door, her little fingers curling over and out. She saw her father, swords points at his throat, her mother laying on the ground at the feet of King Balon, her hand holding her cheek. She saw Arya being comforted by Jory behind her father, sobs coming from the little tot. Baby Bran in Old Nan's arms, wailing. As she looked over the scene, she could not see Robb or Jon. She began to panic. Why weren't they there?

As the carriage pulled away, she was jolted back, hitting her head on something. Everything went black. When she finally opened her eyes, she was standing in the snow outside Winterfell's gates, Jon and Uncle Benjen riding off to the north, a large white wolf trailing behind them, barely visible in the snow. Sansa started to run toward them, calling for Jon when she heard a howl in the other direction.

She watched as Robb rode off south with Ser Rodrik, a large grey wolf running by their side. She looked back north and Jon was gone. She looked back south and Robb was gone.

"No! No! Don't leave me," She screamed as her wolf nuzzled up at her side. "Robb! Jon! Where did you go?!"

There was a knocking sound. A door appeared before her. She heard Theon's voice, "Sansa, are you alright? Sansa, can I come in?"

Sansa's eyes flashed open. She bolted up in her bed. It all came flooding into her mind, her memories, her final memories of Winterfell and her brothers.

"They weren't there," she was crying, her body quivering, tears running down her cheeks. "They weren't there."

She saw Theon quietly open and close the door to her chambers from the corner of her eye. Her voice turned almost to a whisper so only Theon could hear as he approached her bedside. "They weren't there."

"Who wasn't where?" Theon asked, hesitantly standing at the side of her bed as if he couldn't decide whether or not to sit.

"Robb and Jon," Sansa spoke, still staring straight over the foot of her bed, not looking at anything in particular. "They weren't there at Winterfell when your father took me. They weren't there in the days leading up to your father's arrival. I don't remember saying goodbye."

"Had they died already by that point?" Theon asked quietly as he finally decided to sit on the edge of her bed.

Sansa turned and looked into his eyes. They were full of concern, worry, sadness, confusion. Could she trust her friend with her family's secret she may have just recovered from deep in her memories? She did remember her mother telling her to never trust a Greyjoy but Theon and Yara were her friends. They were more like family than her own. Or were they? Were they just her captors as well?

"Sansa, what is it? What did you see in your dreams that is worrying you so much?"

It wasn't her dreams that worried her. It was whether to tell Theon. That is what worried her. She didn't know who she could trust. She took a deep breath, holding it as she looked into Theon’s eyes, their ocean green color shining in the moonlight that was reaching through her chamber window. He slid his hand palm up under her hand that was resting on her blanket. As he laced his fingers between her own, she felt a tingling move from her hand, up her arm and into her chest, warming her heart and releasing her breath. Somehow she knew she could tell him.

"My Uncle Benjen and Ser Rodrik, they weren't there, either, the day I was taken. They had been at Winterfell. I have memories of them at Winterfell right before I left. They would have been in the courtyard when Balon arrived. I don't remember seeing them. And if my brothers were already dead, my family would have buried them in the crypts by my Aunt Lyanna. My father took me down there before I left. I would have remembered if my brothers were buried there."

Theon looked away from her and into the embers still glowing red-orange in the hearth. She could tell he was processing what she had just revealed to him. There was a seriousness to the clench of his jaw and the pace of his breathing. They sat there for a while in silence, still holding hands, Sansa watching the subtle changes on his face, Theon watching the embers glow and fade as the draft moved through the room.

“Do not tell this to anyone else, not even Yara,” he whispered as he turned to look back into Sansa’s eyes, giving her hand a brief squeeze. “If what you remember means they are not dead, their lives will be in great danger if anyone else here on Pyke knows.”

Sansa’s chin began to quiver at the fear that she may have just put her older brothers in danger by sharing her memories with Theon. Her mother’s words echoed in her head, “Never trust a Greyjoy.” What had she done? Tears pushed out the corner of her eyes. Theon lifted his free hand to catch the drops as he brushed his fingers along her cheekbone.

“Sans, I won’t tell anyone. Please trust me. I am not like my father and my brothers. I will keep your secret and I will get you out of here, get you to your brothers in hiding if need be. Yara and I are trying to find a way,” he released her hand and cradled her face between his palms. “I am here to protect you. Since the day you arrived on Pyke, I can’t explain it, but I have felt a duty, a responsibility to shield you from harm. I feel it deep in my heart and when I was away from you, there was an ache, a pain in my chest that I could not be by your side. I will not let them hurt you and that includes protecting you from losing your family.”

“I know,” she said, simply.

He dropped his hands, slipping one back under and around her own. He leaned his back up against the headboard, his legs hanging off the side of the bed. As she rested her head on his arm, she squirmed further under her blankets and closed her eyes, quickly returning to sleep with the comfort of Theon’s presence, no dreams or nightmares to disturb her. Theon rose from the bed and tucked Sansa's blankets around her shoulders to keep out the chill. Noticing the legs of her favorite doll, made by the loving hands of the regal woman he had met at Riverrun, sticking out from behind her pillow, he gently pulled on her and tucked her in with his little friend. Feeling the chill of the night through his own robes, he tip-toed over to the fire and set another log on the embers, shifting them around with the poker until the flames licked around the new wood.

As he left her chambers, he glanced back at the little innocent girl sleeping soundly, her arms around her doll. The weight of responsibility he felt for her was heavy. His mother and uncle seemed to have exhausted much of their efforts, resigned to serve as a buffer between Sansa and his gruesome father and brothers. It was up to him and Yara now to save this girl from the miserable life the King had planned for her.

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Feeling the misty spray of the sea on her face, Sansa gripped the railing in excitement. She was leaving Pyke for the first time since she arrived in the Iron Islands five years ago. Ahead of the ship, she spotted the legendary Ten Towers poking up from the grey fog that wrapped the island like exposed batting around the arm of a chair being mended.

Sansa also felt relief, inhaling a deep comforting breath of sea air, knowing this visit to Uncle Rodrik was a reprieve from the abuse of the king and his elder sons. Balon boomed after them as they left the Great Keep that morning, verbally assaulting Alannys, calling their two youngest children “wolf pups all corrupted by that little red wolf bitch”. That was the moment she felt Theon’s arm wrap around her shoulders as they headed to the dock where Uncle Rodrik and his ship, Sea Song, were waiting for them.

“Wait until you see the library,” she heard Theon’s voice from behind her as he walked up to grasp the railing next to her, their little fingers just touching. Sansa looked down at their hands resting there, feeling a warm prickliness race from her hand, up her arm, across her chest, and up into her cheeks. She waited for him to move his hand away as if it were a mere accident that they touched.

She looked up at him, his gaze out across the water, his hair wet with sea mist, an errant wave dangling, brushing across his bruised brow where the shades of purple and blue were finally showing themselves after his post-dinner struggle with his brothers the night before. She reached up, smoothed back his hair, and gently touched his wound. He winced. "Oh, Theon," Snasa said sorrowfully as she pulled back her hand. In that moment though, he looked less like the boy she first met and more like the man he was growing to be, less like his father and brothers and more like his mother and sister, glimpses of his Uncle Rodrik. She hoped he would grow to be a man more like his uncle.

With that thought, she glanced back out towards Uncle Rodrik’s home, dreaming of the wonderful books she may find in his library. She could feel Theon’s gaze shift to her and the warmth in her cheeks rose hotter. She smiled at the comfort his attention brought and thought her cheeks must match her auburn hair at this point.

☆

The last few days on the island of Harlaw had been like a dream. Sansa often felt like she should pinch herself. Alannys was happier. Yara and Theon were happier. She was happier. There was no angry shouting. No unwanted touching. No fresh bruises or cuts on Theon’s face.

But the threat loomed over them. Just a few hours after they arrived, the Black Wind anchored just off the shore. Balon had sent his two eldest sons to keep an eye on them, or more specifically, on Sansa, his ward, his hostage, his prisoner. Theon had overheard Uncle Rodrik's heir, Harras, reporting back to him that first night after he had gone out to speak with the oldest Greyjoy prince, with whom he was friends and being of a similar age. Each day when she looked out and saw the Kraken sails, she knew she was not truly free.

On this day, the sun came through the windows of the library in golden beams. Every so often Sansa would look up from her book and watch the dust float through the streams of light, Theon sitting on the other side of those beams, head buried in books on the history of the Iron Islands. His brow was furrowed, an intense look as his eyes danced through the lines and across the pages, waves of stubborn hair grazing his forehead, dangling above the book.

This serious Theon was a new side of her friend ever since his return from the sea aboard the Black Wind. She saw less of the silly, japing, foolish boy who would tease her relentlessly, with a smirk on his face. She wondered if this was just what happened to boys as they grew older or if something had happened to him on his journey, if he had seen things that changed him. He was much more serious about his studies with the maester and frequently made trips to spend time with his Uncle Rodrik.

Sansa herself was sitting there, legs tucked up and to the side on the chair, reading the romantic story of Jonquil and Florian from a book of legends from across the realm. Though she no longer played with her dolls, daydreaming of a prince coming to rescue her, she did still enjoy these stories. She wondered if there would ever be a time she would grow up and no longer see the magic in a love story. It had faded a bit in her sadness over the past few years, but recently since Theon’s return, she hadn’t quite so gloomy an outlook and was again enjoying the legends of knights and fair maidens in love.

She finished the last few lines of the story, closed the book gently, and placed it on the stack she had gathered at the foot of her chair. Leaning down over the arm to flip through the titles on the bindings, her hair fell like a curtain to one side, draping from her head, catching the sunbeams which lit the auburn tendrils in a visual fire. She paused for a moment to observe the light shining through her hair when she noticed green eyes glinting in the sun, peeking at her over a book. She sat up quickly, realizing how silly she must have looked. Glancing back over to Theon, he was back to reading but a familiar smirk rested on his lips.

Raising her hands to her warm cheeks to hide her embarrassment, she stood up and quickly rounded the stacks in the library to the corner where she had found the other books of legends and romance, out of Theon’s view. She heard a rustling on the other side of a shelf and it stopped her in her tracks. Frozen, she stood there, waiting for Maron to come around the corner, Maron with his creepy gaze and his unwelcomed touching. The thought of it sent shivers down her spine. And then, she heard a whisper. A girl’s voice.

“But why do you have to go?” said the voice. And then she heard the unmistakable sound of two people kissing.

“I have to. I have to prove to my father and the people of the Iron Islands that I am just as strong and capable as a warrior and a leader as my brothers.” Sansa caught her breath. There was no doubt the other voice belonged to Yara. Hearing more kissing and a rustling of clothes, Sansa tiptoed back out of the stacks and returned to her chair, picking up the same book as before, releasing a heavy breath into the pages.

“Sans, is something bothering you?” Theon asked, looking up from his book. She shook her head. “Are you sure?” He persisted.

Was this a secret that Yara had a lover? She couldn’t betray her, even to Theon. She shouldn’t even know. But Yara leaving? That concerned her. Suddenly she was realizing something she had feared for years was coming soon. That her only two friends in the world would leave her alone on Pyke, in her prison.

“Is Yara going to sea?” Sansa asked Theon.

“Yes. She will be riding the Black Wind with Rodrik just like I did. I believe she is supposed to leave with him when you and Mother head back to Pyke.”

“Oh,” her head hung down to face the open book in her lap. “Wait, you are not returning to Pyke with us?”

He hesitated, sad eyes focused on her. “I’m going to sea with Uncle Rodrik on Sea Song. Mother thought it would be good for me to experience the sea with a different style of captain. Our visit here was a way to get me on the ship without father’s interference.”

Sansa held his gaze, but she could feel the warmth rise to her cheeks again, this time bringing tears up behind her eyes. It was a rush of emotions coming to her all at once. Sadness. Heartache. Anger. Fear. Fear was the one overwhelming her most. Fear of having no one to protect her from the abuse and rage of Balon and Maron. She could feel her chin quivering.

Theon set his books down and walked over to her chair, kneeling before her, lifting her hands from her book and wrapping them in his own. She looked down at the embrace, feeling the roughness of the small calluses he had earned during his first sea voyage. It was taking all her energy to keep back her tears so she kept looking down.

“Sansa, you are ready for this. This is what we have been training for. We knew that one day you would have to face Pyke without me and Yara. This is part of our plan and you are ready to defend yourself. You will have Mother to help you sometimes and Dagmer,” Theon chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I think you have wormed your way into that grizzled man’s heart. Yara and I have spoken with him. He will keep an eye on you. And the servants care for you as well. They call you the little red pup. I hear them speak so well of you. Your kindness in getting to know them and spending time with them has endeared them to you. I am hoping it is enough to keep you safe until we return.”

Her head still down looking at their hands, she squeezed her eyes tight as a couple of tears escaped onto the book pages in her lap. In unison, they both took in a deep breath, and as they exhaled, Theon whispered, “I will rescue you from this prison, little princess.”

The words made her feel like she had never felt before. The tears came in a steady stream. She pulled back and looked up and into his eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment.

Then, he stood, holding one of her hands in one of his, sliding the book off her lap with the other. Pulling her up from the chair, he said, “Come now, let’s get in every bit of defense training we can.” They walked out to the training yard, her hand in his the entire way.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara, Theon, and Sansa say their good-byes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 9  
Theon - 13  
Yara - 16

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There it was. Haunting him. Taunting him. Sitting restlessly on the sea. It hadn’t moved for two moons, their entire stay on Harlaw. But he knew it didn’t want to be there, the Black Wind. He knew his brother was getting restless, bored with the errand his father had sent him on.

He loved sitting up in this tower, watching the sea out the window. He normally would sit on the opposite ledge to avoid thinking about his time on the Black Wind as much as possible. It was bad enough that ship entered his sleep most nights, waking him up drenched with sweat, sometimes crying or crying out.

But on this particular day, Sansa wanted to draw him for his mother and she was insistent that this window cast the best light. They would frequently come up to this tower room together, often with Yara as well, where Sansa had spread out her drawing papers and tools that Uncle Rodrik had given her.

Yara told him Sansa had found a hiding place up in an abandoned keep back at Pyke and began squirreling away paper to take up there. Theon had found the room one day after his return. Her charcoal drawings were beautiful. He could tell she was getting better the more she drew from observation. There were seascapes and landscapes, ships and towers, broken furniture and bits of food. There were also portraits. Some were very detailed, like the ones of his mother, Yara, various thralls and servants, even Dagmer. But then there were others that were a bit more vague, not as many specific features. He couldn’t identify them, except the few that he was pretty sure were him, ones drawn from her memory during his absence.

Sansa had found him looking through her work in her secret space and grew angry with him as he’d never seen before. She yanked drawings from his hand and screamed for him to leave. Yara explained how difficult captivity was becoming for Sansa as she grew to better understand the reality of her situation. That sometimes Sansa needed space and solitude. So, Theon avoided her drawing space and let it be her space. Until one day, she led him up to show him some of her drawings. Actually, one in particular. She had sat one day with paper and charcoal on the side of the training yard while Theon worked with his bow. Here, in her secret space, she was sharing those drawings with him, drawings of him doing his favorite thing.

He was stunned at how she had captured his movement in these still images. He rarely saw his whole figure in a mirror. Looking at her drawings, he realized he looked more like a man and less like the little pudgy boy she first met when she arrived on Pyke. His training and years at sea had made him lean, muscular. She grabbed the drawing he had been staring at the longest and slid it into a larger folded piece of paper and held it out for him. He kept that drawing between his books in his chest that always traveled with him.

He knew how much the portrait Sansa was drawing for his mother would mean to her. Imagining his mother looking over the portrait with a smile, washing away the sadness from her eyes for a brief moment, he realized he wanted the same. He wanted a portrait to take with him, to keep his sanity afloat on the sea, to keep him from drowning in the loneliness of being away from those that loved him most.

“Sans,” he broke the silence in the tower room. She stopped scratching the charcoal on the paper and looked up at him from her spot on the floor. “Could you draw a picture of yourself if I let you borrow mother’s hand mirror?” he asked.

Sansa unhappily scrunched her face the way she does when the cook serves eel. “Why would I want a picture of myself? And your mother doesn’t need one because I will be with her.”

“No, I mean for me. One I could take with me.”

“Oh,” her face softened, her cheeks turning the color of a rose. Looking back down to her work, she continued, “I can try. I have never drawn myself. Wouldn’t you rather one of your mother or Yara?”

Theon would love to be able to look at all their faces, but he knew there wasn’t much time before he left with Uncle Rodrik. They had planned a visit to Bear Island to meet with Lady Maege Mormont under the cover of returning the island to use as a reaving base for Ironborn ships. They would seemingly be treating with the Mormonts and the Starks for this reason. In reality, they would be treating with these two northern houses for reasons very much against Balon’s wishes. Theon and Rodrik would be on a treasonous mission and from here on out only Yara would know their true intentions. He couldn’t even tell Sansa or mother.

Uncle Rodrik and Theon had been planning this trip since he returned over a year ago. It was key to freeing Sansa from her imprisonment on the Iron Islands and preparing Theon and Yara to challenge their brothers upon Balon’s death. To make the islands a more just place, a more prosperous place. Having the support of the Mormonts and the Starks would be essential to the success of their challenge. Bear Island had a long history of struggle with the Ironborn. Theon needed to prove to them that he and his sister ruling the Iron Islands would be to the benefit of House Mormont and its people.

Maron and Rodrik had done nothing to endear themselves to the lords under Balon’s rule in the north. Bear Island had been hit particularly hard with the recent exile of its former lord, Jorah Mormont and the rise of the She-Bear, Lady Maege. Prince Rodrik had taken particular advantage of this situation, even attempting to take one of Maege’s daughters as a Salt Wife, underestimating the ferocious She-Bears of House Mormont. In fact, the Greyjoy princes’ reaving and raping had fueled calls for rebellion and destruction of the Ironborn. Balon, holed up in his keep, was blind to the discontent beyond the islands and Theon’s brothers were young and reckless. If the Ironborn were to survive, something was going to have to change and his brothers would just be more of the same.

And so began the plans for Sansa’s rescue. And with that, the fostering of Theon and Yara since they would be unable to return to the Iron Islands as long as their father was alive. Their meeting at Bear Island was to work out the details of these things.

“Done,” Sansa proclaimed with a satisfied grin, slapping and brushing the charcoal dust from her hands, snapping Theon out of his daydreams. The little girl held up her work proudly for him to see. It looked like him. She even captured a small smirk on his face. He knew looking at this would make mother happy and help her with the melancholy that Yara told him she seemed to suffer from last time he was gone.

“This is wonderful, Sansa,” he smiled at her as he got down from the window ledge and walked toward her for a closer look.

“Here. You can wrap it in some of that paper over there. I’ll be right back. I’m going to go ask your mother if I can borrow her hand mirror so I can get started on your request right now since you will be leaving soon.” She leaped up and slipped out of the tower door quickly.

Holding the paper in his hands gingerly so as not to smear the charcoal, Theon walked over to the pile of papers Sansa had pointed him to, grabbing a large one. He set his portrait down as he folded the large paper and then set the work inside for safekeeping. He noticed another pile of papers stacked next to the blank paper, these ones wrapped inside a larger sheet. He could see there were drawings on these pieces from the corners peeking out of the pile. Sansa had other piles like this around the room, contents of which she had shared with Theon. But he hadn’t seen the ones in this pile yet.

Curious, Theon set his portrait aside and picked up the portfolio of drawings setting them on the stone floor in front of him as he crossed his legs and sat down. Opening the wrapped paper he uncovered a drawing of a castle very different from Pyke. Where the keeps of Pyke were tall and skinny, this castle had fat rotund keeps and sprawling fortress walls. The banners hanging at the gate held the Stark sigil. This must be Winterfell. Theon was amazed at the detail Sansa put into the drawing, having last seen the castle when she was only four years of age.

He gently flipped the drawing to the side to expose the next one. He sat there staring into the eyes of a giant wolf. Sansa had lightened the pressure of the charcoal to make the fur seem grey. He had seen a wolf in captivity during his travels in Essos, but this one seemed different. There was something majestic and otherworldly about this wolf.

He slid the wolf drawing over to reveal a drawing of three boys, two of them with a wolf at their side, and the third with a squid-like creature on his arm, its tentacles wrapped across his chest. It was him. Not quite as detailed as the portrait she had just completed but he could tell it was him. And the boy next to him was so familiar. These boys must be her brothers, these drawings from her dreams. She had shared some of her dream with Theon. They had led her to believe her brothers had not died in the siege on Winterfell during the Greyjoy Rebellion. And now, here was proof to Theon that she might be right because that boy next to him looked a whole lot like Sansa’s young uncle at Riverrun.

Theon quickly glanced through the other drawings, more from her dreams. There was Yara standing stoically next to a girl with a bear cub at her heels. The boy he though might be Robb in armor with a large wolf at his side. The other boy, who must be her brother Jon, in black fur, a large ghostly white wolf next to him. There were more drawings of children with wolves, children he didn’t know but that must be her other family members. The images were ethereal with softer line quality compared to her drawings from life. He remembered the day she had gotten angry with him for looking through her drawings and wondered if she was afraid to let him see these.

He could hear footsteps on the stone stairs below. He quickly grabbed the drawing of himself with the two boys and slid it between the paper wrapped around his new portrait. He quickly stacked the drawings back the way they were and wrapped the paper on top, setting the stack next to the blank sheets. Looking up at Sansa as she returned to the keep, a big smile on her face and the mirror in her hand, he forced a smile back at her. There was an ache in his gut as he realized for the first time ever he was betraying her trust, lying to her, stealing from her. But something else in his gut was telling him he needed that picture.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“By the Drowned God, Little Wolf, what did ye pack in this thing,” Dagmer exclaimed as he helped lift Sansa’s trunk into the rowboat headed to the Sea Song for their return trip to Pyke.

“Oh, I think she may have emptied every shelf where I kept the fairy and knights tales,” Uncle Rodrik chuckled, “but they will get much more love and attention with her than anyone in these towers.” Rodrik took a long look up and over his home. Sansa sensed a sadness in his eyes and wondered if he always felt that way when he ventured out to sea for long periods of time.

Then, he glanced down at her, catching her observant eyes, and smiled that same warm sad smile he had always given her since he picked her up out of the carriage five years ago.

Rodrik looked away and out toward the sea sucking in a deep breath, “Well, on with it then, with the lot of ye. Go give your good-byes to your sister. The both of you.” He looked down at Theon and Sansa next to one another, watching him, studying him. Sansa looked to Theon and saw Rodrik’s sadness reflected on his face as well.

“Come on, let’s go see Yara,” Theon grabbed her hand and yanked her running toward where the Black Wind’s crew was preparing to depart. As their feet crunched through the pebbles and gravel, Sansa looking up at her friend with a smile that went ear to ear. She loved these moments when he would grab her hand and they would run off together. This was probably the last time they would ever do this. The next time they would see each other, he would be older. She would be older. It wouldn’t be proper for a prince to go galloping around with his brother’s future wife. Salt wife, she reminded herself. Chills went down her spine at the thought and then she realized Theon was slowing down.

She looked ahead to see Yara with her arms wrapped tightly around a girl with long flowing hair the color of cinnamon. Sansa could see Yara’s gloved fingers gripping and digging into the girl’s shoulders, her face buried into the side of her neck, hidden by her hair. Theon had come to a stop, watching the scene before him, silent. The embrace seemed to go on for a long while and Sansa knew this girl meant something to Yara.

“Lady Yara, we must go now,” a gruff voice shouted from the rowboat below the dock. Sansa watched as Yara pulled away from the girl, revealing the same girl she thought she had seen Yara with in the library. She had seen her frequently in the great hall of the Ten Towers as they dined. She was Thosha, daughter to Hotho Harlaw, the queen’s first cousin. She was just a year or two older than Yara and at first, Sansa thought Yara was just tired of hanging out with little kids. But watching the two of them here and remembering the conversation she heard in the library, a little part of her heart was aching for Yara, for her big sister.

Tears were streaming down Thosha’s face, red and swollen from a long hard cry. She watched as Yara cupped her hand to the crying girl’s cheek and brushed away tears with her thumb. Looking steadily into her eyes, Yara leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. Thosha released a single sob into the air as if she had been fighting to hold it down for ages. Yara closed her eyes and Sansa noticed a tear roll down her cheek.

It was a beautifully strange moment, seeing Yara cry. Sansa couldn’t remember the last time she saw her cry. Feeling the moment, a rush of warmth rose up in her cheeks as she fought to keep her own tears at bay. She felt a squeeze on her hand and looked up at Theon beside her. He was looking at her with sorrowful eyes as if telling her it is alright to be sad and he feels the same way.

“My lady,” the gruff voice shouted again from below. With that, Yara shook her head and backed away from Thosha, turning toward her siblings. Because that is what she was, Sansa thought. Her sister. They were sisters in everything but blood. She had been everything a big sister should, everything Sansa wished she could be for Arya and Bran and the baby brother she has never met.

Yara stretched out her arms inviting them in for a hug. They all stood there for squeezing for dear life, Thosha backing away with her quiet sobs. Soon, Sansa and Alannys would be saying good-bye to Theon and Uncle Rodrik as well, from the dock on Pyke where she and the queen would be returned before the men journeyed to Bear Island.

As she thought about being without Theon and Yara in that dreary castle with Maron creeping around and Prince Rodrik’s salt wife trudging around in her misery, only to remind Sansa of what her future had in store, her body shivered and her stomach ached.

“I will be back for you, Little Wolf,” her sister whispered in her ear.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon gathers the confidence to lead a rebellion against his father and brothers on his journey to meet new allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 10  
Theon - 14  
Yara - 17  
Dacey Mormont - 15  
Lyanna Mormont - 5

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Year 295 AC

“Land!”

Theon looked up from ropes he had been pulling through his gloved hands. He looked out across the starboard railing but all he could see was the fog and mist filling the cold air above the freezing water. As soon as they entered the Bay of Ice, Theon along with the crew took down the Kraken sail his father had forced his uncle to fly. They replaced it with the silver scythe of House Harlaw to ward off retaliation for the anger his brothers had left in their wake.

He was proud of his Uncle Rodrik, proud to be a member of his crew. In just the short time he had been aboard the Sea Song, it was evident to Theon that his uncle was a skilled politician and leader. The contrast with his brother and his time on the Black WInd was stark. When they pulled into ports in their small vessels, the Harlaw scythe visible on the crew’s leather armor, he could see the respect it garnered. The people his uncle met with to trade smiled and shook his hand. They actually smiled, Theon thought to himself, stunned. There was no fear of reaving from Rodrik the Reader, so he had heard his uncle called by one of the small vassal lords they had met.

But Theon also saw the disdainful looks shot in his direction at the Kraken across his breast. His uncle always had a smooth way to introduce him and soften some of the harsh glares. Still, it bothered him. He was realizing how much work he and Yara had ahead of them if they were to ever repair the legacy of their family.

One day Theon made his way to the captain’s quarters on the Sea Song and asked his uncle if there was a spare Harlaw breastplate he could wear. His uncle looked up from his ledger, quill in hand, fingers stained with ink, a reading glass balanced on his nose. His eyes were surprised at first and then his expression sank into a sad smile, the one he often gave to Sansa.

“Sit down, Theon,” he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. His smile faded into a contemplative expression, his thick eyebrows furrowing. “What have you learned about your grandfather Quellon Greyjoy?”

“Just what I’ve read in your books. That he was a reformer. That he wanted the Ironborn to get along with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. He fought against slavers and freed the thralls. Brought maesters to the islands. Forbid reaving, and…”

Theon looked down at his hands, twisting them in his lap. He could feel heat in his cheeks. This was the part of the Old Ways that angered him most. Angered him because it would destroy the life of someone he loved dearly.

“...and salt wives.” He looked back up into his uncle’s eyes.

“Almost. He tried. And he had the respect of his people. It would have happened if,” his uncle looked out the window of his cabin. He took in a deep breath and released it with a quiet sigh. “If he hadn’t perished during Robert’s Rebellion. If he had been able to live out his remaining years on Pyke and establish systems to maintain his reforms.”

Rodrik turned his eyes intently back to his nephew. A passionate intensity in his glare. “And that is where Quellon failed. He did not take the time to teach his sons why the reforms were so important to the survival of the Ironborn. He left his sons to be educated by the old men in his fleet, on his ships, filling their young impressionable heads with destructive desires and cruel tendencies--the Old Ways. Your grandfather forgot to reform his own family.”

Theon looked at his uncle, stunned at the honesty of his words but finding an understanding of why his uncle told him these things. Destructive desires and cruel tendencies. These are what haunted his dreams. These are what sailed into his mind on the deck and in the cabins of the Black Wind. These were the nightmares that woke him up, shouting and sweating, in the middle of the night.

Rodrik had seen in his youngest nephew something he had not seen in Prince Rodrik and Prince Maron. He had seen a boy struggle to accept the Old Ways, conflict written across his face. He had watched a bratty selfish chubby boy change to something else since the day Sansa Stark entered his life. Because he loved that little girl as if she were his own family, he took responsibility for her safety, trying his hardest to protect her from the Old Ways. Because Balon intended upon her first moonblood to thrust Sansa into the cruelty and destruction of the Old Ways, a fight and determination had grown inside Theon to protect her from the fate of a salt wife and, with that fight, to make sure no other women would have to live the life that he had watched his brother’s salt wife live for the last couple of years.

Rodrik Harlaw watched as Theon supported his sister Yara in her struggle for independence and equity from their father. He was watching as Theon was becoming a leader, someone with empathy and compassion for all, no matter their birth or gender. It was because of this that Rodrik said yes the day his nephew came to him asking for his help to free the Little Wolf and restore his grandfather’s reforms to save the future of the Ironborn.

Theon nodded in agreement and determination to his uncle. He watched as Rodrik straightened his spine, lifting his shoulders back, his chest out and chin up looking proud and approvingly at his nephew.

“Now, you have no need for Harlaw armor. You are Quellon Greyjoy’s grandson and you will wear that Kraken with pride. You will bring honor and respect back to the Greyjoy name throughout the realm. You remember that, Theon Greyjoy, prince of the Iron Islands, grandson of Quellon. You stand tall as he stood tall. You be wise as he was wise.”

Wear that kraken with pride. Standing now, out on the deck of the Sea Song, watching Bear Island appear from the mist, he touched his hand to his breastplate, running his fingers along the tentacles of his family sigil, feeling the weight of responsibility. He was nervous and afraid for what he was about to do but knew he needed to be proud and strong for Sansa. For Yara. For Uncle Rodrik. For the Ironborn. For the innocent and powerless.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

As their rowboat approached the dock, Theon’s breath stammered and caught as he inhaled deeply in response to the landscape before him. He had never seen the likes of this island. Where Pyke was monochromatic in dull grayish-greens, Bear Island was lush in the deep vibrant greens of the ferns and the pine trees towering over rocks that seemed to hold rainbows of color in their striations, wet from the sea mist. Where you could see most of the flat dull landscape of Pyke from most vantage points on the island, the land before him seemed to hide a vast unknown beyond the shore.

It was the beauty of the island that caught his breath the first time. The second time, it was the beauty of the tall girl standing at the dock beside the woman he assumed to be Lady Maege Mormont. The older woman was grizzled with age and battle scars. She was surrounded by five girls around his age and younger, suited up in leather armor with bears emblazoned on their breastplates. Even the youngest, who could not have been older than her fifth name day, wore armor and held a spear.

These are the infamous She-Bears of Bear Island, the warrior women who protected the island and its people. Behind Lady Mormont, he could see equal numbers of men and women in their traditional armor, showing off their strength as they greeted the Ironborn party.

But Theon could not keep his eyes off the tallest of the Mormont girls. The wind whipped her flowing black hair to the side, her face was long and elegant with a serious unflinching expression, her eyes a deep dark color. She wasn’t thin and waifish like the highborn girls he had met at Riverrun. She was strong and sturdy like Yara. Like she could probably take Theon in hand-to-hand combat. He was skilled with the bow, but Yara had always gotten the best of him otherwise.

“Welcome, Prince Theon. Lord Harlaw,” Lady Mormont spoke without a smile as they stepped up the ladder to stand in front of the women. She bowed her head.

Theon stood in awe, nodding to Lady Mormont and then quickly stealing a glance at the girl beside her. She had brown eyes and they were looking right at him. He quickly looked back toward their host and heard his uncle clear his throat, realizing he was supposed to speak in return.

“Um, th-thank you, Lady Mormont, for your hospitality. We, um, we have been eagerly anticipating this visit.” The She-Bear bowed her head once more and without another word, extended her arm, palm up toward the path from the shore. Theon’s gaze followed it to where it disappeared into the thick pine forest. Beyond the trees, he could see what looked like chimney smoke rising. That must be the way to Mormont Keep. He looked back at his uncle, who nodded him along with an approving look.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Their trek was relatively silent through the forest to the keep. Theon spent most of it looking up through the dense pines amazed at their height and how straight they grew. Or he was looking at Dacey Mormont, the eldest daughter of Lady Mormont, heir to Bear Island. Dacey, he thought dreamily in his head. He imagined running his fingers through her jet black hair, touching her milky white skin, her cheek blushed from exertion and the cool air, her lips the color of coral.

“Is your sister really at sea, a sailor on your brother’s ship?” She asked him, snapping him out of his daydream.

“Hmm? Yara? Yes. She is on the Black Wind, one of the crew.”

“So the Ironborn allow their women to fight?’

“Yes. Well, no. Not really. My sister is just really stubborn and strong-willed. Hard to tell her no. She has been training to fight since she was about the same age as your littlest sister. Same for my my…” He paused, unsure of what to call Sansa. She was not his sister. She was not his ward or his hostage. He could feel Dacey’s eyes on him, waiting. “...Sansa Stark, my father’s ward. Same for her. She has also been training. But my father doesn’t know.”

He said the last part in almost a whisper, tilting his head down but looking up at Dacey, who was a few inches taller. Her eyes opened wider when she realized the weight of what he was saying, She smiled a small smile at him and then turned forward.

“We are here.”

Theon followed her gaze to the large gate before them with an immense and spectacular wood carving of a woman in a bearskin with a baby in one arm and a battle axe in the other. Beyond the gate was the keep, a large structure made of massive logs. He had only ever seen keeps of stone before this. There was a warmth to this place, so different from the cold damp chill of Pyke. He felt like he was walking into his mother’s embrace.

As they entered the yard inside the gate, Theon saw more carved figures. These ones had names carved beneath them and he thought they must be Mormont lords and ladies of the past. Suddenly he stopped in front of one, looking with disbelief at the name carved into the wood.

Theon Stark.

He looked up at the immense figure of a thin man looming over him, covered in furs, dressed like a Northman, but sharing the same name as an Ironborn prince.

“He is your namesake. Your mother loved the stories of Bear Island and knew he was one of their heroes. But,” his uncle chuckled as he explained, “if your father ever paid enough attention to history, he would never have allowed this because Theon Stark rid the northern shores of the Ironborn. He saved this island from the Old Ways once a long time ago and to this day the Mormonts serve the Starks because of it.”

“He is known as the Hungry Wolf,” added Dacey, with a subtle smile that stirred a warmth up inside of Theon. He returned her smile lifting the corner of his lips into a smirk as they entered the great hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had a lot to do with exploring why Theon growing up with the Ironborn might not have the same outlook on women as the Theon growing up as a ward/hostage of Winterfell.
> 
> And don't worry, this is still a Theonsa fic 😊 Theon is a 15 year old boy, after all, and Sansa is still a little girl. We will get there. Remember, I said ssssllllloooow buuuuurrrrrrnnnn. Love you all for reading this. Thank you!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life drones on for Sansa on Pyke without Theon and Yara. Theon gets closer to one of the Mormont girls. Uncle Rodrik continues to plot with his nephew and niece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:
> 
> Sansa - 11  
Theon - 15  
Yara - 18  
Dacey - 16
> 
> Your comments and kudos spur me on to keep writing this story. Thank you sooooo much!

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Year 296 AC

The deep green thread pulled smoothly through the black velvet fabric until it was taut between her hand and the embroidery hoop. She deftly continued to thread the needle up and down through the cloth as if she was sketching the image on paper with charcoal.

In their loneliness, Sansa, Queen Alannys, and Taisiya, young Rodrik’s salt wife, had taken to spending quiet hours sewing together by the hearth in the queen’s sitting room, sheltering themselves from the fury of Balon as he learned of defeats and betrayals among his vassal houses beyond the Iron Islands. The queen and Taisiya would sew gowns together for the three of them and Sansa would employ her drawing skills to create imaginative imagery upon the fabric.

Presently, she was embroidering seaweed along the neckline of a gown Taisiya was to wear for a feast upon young Rodrik’s return. Her heart ached for Taisiya over the years, trapped like a slave in a marriage with no love, bearing the knowledge that one day she would be surpassed in attention by a rock wife if her husband so chooses.

For the first year that Taisiya lived on Pyke, she roamed the castle like a ghost, expressionless, non-verbal. Sansa could hear her screaming and shouting in the middle of the night, and finding her covered in cuts and bruises the next day. When Rodrik was at sea, she could still hear Taisiya screaming from her chambers, deep in the dark hours of the night.

When Sansa had returned with the queen from Harlaw after Theon and Yara had departed, she had finally gathered up the nerve to check on Taisiya one night when she had awoken to her screams. She had crept into her chambers and found the girl thrashing in her bed in a sort of sleep trance. Sansa spoke to her in a gentle voice as she approached the bed and as Taisiya's limbs began to settle, she calmly climbed into bed with the girl, wrapping her arms around her, continuing the whisper calm words and sounds into her ear until she fell back into a peaceful sleep.

Over the next two years, she and Taisiya had developed an almost wordless friendship, a friendship of silent looks and gentle touches to soothe each other in their most difficult fits of trauma. Trauma from abuse and imprisonment. Sansa treated Taisiya the way she hoped to be treated by someone one day when she became Rodrik’s salt wife. Or Maron’s. That thought, the thought of being Maron’s wife, sent bile up into her throat. He was home on Pyke more often than Rodrik. While the latter completely ignored Sansa, Maron seemed to only pay attention to her when they were in the same room, leaving a sickening, uneasy feeling in her gut. She knew if she was to survive this harsh life on Pyke, she would need Taisiya as a friend. And Taisiya needed her friendship right now.

So it came to pass that the queen would spend most of her days with her ward and her eldest son’s salt wife, quietly waiting for her youngest children to return. Sansa’s charcoal drawings of Theon and Yara had been set behind glass and given a place of honor on the small table beside the queen’s chair in her sitting room. Sansa appreciated this, not just because someone valued her drawings, but she, in turn, was able to see her dearest friends every day they were gone.

She missed Theon and Yara with a deep ache in her heart like they had each cut a small piece out of her chest and taken it with them, the pain to only be relieved upon their return with those little pieces. She received the occasional letter from Yara, telling her about all the new ports and sights she was experiencing. Her letters were so detailed, Sansa felt like she could close her eyes and picture walking alongside her friend through all those exotic places. 

She also knew Yara would be home soon with young Rodrik on the _ Black Wind _. This recently helped to set her at ease on her hardest days, the days she accidentally crossed paths with the king, when she would bear the physical abuse he could no longer bestow upon any of his own children. She knew when Yara returned, Balon would not be allowed to lay a finger on her.

But she had not heard from Theon in over a year and for some reason, that fact chiseled a crack in her heart to the brink of breaking it in two. She did not understand why he would not write to her any longer. He was under the command of Uncle Rodrik, one of her favorite people in the whole world, someone she thought actually cared for her, possibly even loved her like a daughter. She couldn’t imagine him not allowing Theon to write to her.

And some nights when she lay in bed awake, struggling to fall asleep between the pain of her bruises and cuts and the screams of Taisiya’s night terrors coming down the corridors, she thought maybe he had met a girl. Maybe he had fallen in love. That was the only justification she could think of for him to forget their friendship. She was just some little girl after all. Not a beautiful woman or an alluring princess. She was just a ward. A hostage. A greenlander. Maybe he had just been kind to her out of obligation.

But no, she knew Theon. He was her best friend. He knew her better than anyone. Sometimes she felt like they didn’t even need to speak out loud to one another to know what the other was thinking. It hadn’t mattered how long he would be away over the years. Their connection always snapped right back into place upon his return.

But the absence of his correspondence allowed doubt to creep into her mind. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe in a few years, he would come home with a salt wife and his priorities would be different. She wouldn’t be worth his time or attention. On the nights when these thoughts ran through her head, the tears silently flowed onto her pillow.

Some nights, to ease the pain, she would try to imagine what her life would have been like if she had grown up in Winterfell with her mother and father and all her siblings. This dream, this fantasy seemed to help lull her to sleep. It would lull her into wolf dreams. Dreams where she saw her siblings running with wolves. Dreams of running beside a beautiful graceful wolf, one that seemed to emanate loyalty and trust, things she desperately lacked in her real life.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

She had him pinned down in the bed of pine needles, straddling his abdomen, her staff under his chin.

“Yield,” she commanded of him, a wicked smile across her face, her dark eyes twinkling in the rays of light reaching through the canopy of the forest. Her black hair brushed gently along his cheek and, in combination with the feeling of her thighs tightening on his center, he could feel his arousal.

“Never,” he responded, answering with a smirk, raising his hand to touch her hip.

She looked down at his hand on her and flashed her eyes back up at his. Tightening the staff on his chin, she lowered her lips to his, like she had done so many times before during their sparring over the past year whenever their ship came to Bear Island. Like he had done to her as well.

She had been his first kiss. He was so enchanted by her, this warrior princess, this dark beauty. And he could tell he was not her first kiss. She may have only been older than him by a year, but he had a feeling her experience surpassed his own. She was bold and aggressive and unafraid. And she could best him when they sparred just as often as he bested her. He never needed to hold back with her. She could take his best maneuvers, his toughest hits. She was breathtaking.

And at this moment, she was pushing her tongue between his lips, exploring his mouth. As he pushed back with his tongue, she yanked her head away from him, continuing the press her staff under his chin.

“I said yield,” she repeated.

Theon slowly lifted his hands in surrender and answered, “I yield.”

As soon as she released him, he gripped her on both sides of her hips and flipped her onto her back on the ground and returned her kiss. She pushed the heels of her palms against his chest for a brief moment and then grabbed his hair into her clenched fists and held him harder in their kiss. 

Gods, she made him hard. And she always left him to walk it off, to deal with his arousal by himself.

“Dacey!” He heard a girl’s voice from off a distance through the trees. He pulled up from their kiss and froze. Then, just as suddenly, he found himself on his back again, following her with his eyes as she darted off through the trees without a word.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“I believe we have worked out a deal with our new allies,” his uncle began to explain. They were sitting in the small pine-covered solar of the guest quarters in Mormont Keep. His uncle had spent the last year securing safe wardships for him and Yara in return for the support of the Harlaw fleet to the Northern rebellion and the safe return of Sansa Stark to Winterfell.

“So where will I be staying, Nuncle?” Theon hoped he would say Bear Island. He hoped that he would be able to stay here with Dacey and in a few years, who knows. But he also thought about what it would mean if he went to Winterfell. He would be with his friend Elston--er Robb. He was still getting use to calling him that and it wasn’t an open secret yet, for fear that spies within the north might get word back to his father. 

If he went to Winterfell, he would be there with Sansa, too. His best childhood friend. The main reason he was even here to begin with. There was always something in the back of his mind, a pull from his chest leading him to feel that Winterfell is where he should be. Even though the raging sexual desires of his teenage self was telling him he wanted to stay on this island, there was something deeper telling him differently.

“We have secured a place here,” Rodrik paused and looked at his nephew intently, “for your sister.”

Theon’s shoulders slumped a bit in disappointment because he knew this meant he would likely not be staying here.

“I know you have developed--feelings for the eldest Mormont girl, but you need to understand something, _ Prince _ Theon.” His uncle put a heavy emphasis on his title, a title he never used when speaking with him privately. “Dacey Mormont is heir to Bear Island. She will not leave to marry elsewhere. Whoever she marries will stay here and rule at her side as her consort. That is no place for the heir to the Iron Islands.”

Theon nodded in understanding as his uncle explained what he already knew. He kept his eyes down, looking at his hands in his lap. “Then where will I go?”

“You have made quite an impression on the Stark family, my dear nephew. From the friendship you have developed with young Robb to the kindness you have shown Lady Stark, they were very receptive to you staying at Winterfell.” He remembers the day they arrived on Bear Island a year earlier. He knew Lady Stark had already arrived and would be in the Great Hall so he slid under his tunic Sansa’s little self-portrait, wrapped in a silken fabric and tied with a bit of string. Eventually that evening, he found a moment to speak with his friend’s mother and gave her the package. He was so nervous, he scurried away back to the table of Ironborn who were deep in their cups and singing songs of the sea. He watched her between the shoulders of the men seated across from him as she gently opened the package. He hadn’t meant to make her cry and he felt terrible when she picked up the package and quickly retired to her quarters.

Theon looked up at his uncle, head still tilted low. “They really like me?”

“Mmm. Now, the other northern vassal houses feel there needs to be more offered in return for their military support of our attempt to overthrow your father and brothers. So, a betrothal needed to be made.”

“No, Nuncle.” Theon’s heart sank.

“Now, Theon. Hold on. Firstly, we are looking to end the old ways. This means strengthening ties with greenlanders. Your grandfather understood the importance of this. You should as well. And the best way to demonstrate this to the Ironborn, to your people, is by setting an example.”

Theon groaned. He dreaded being in a marriage with no attraction, no love. He had seen how horrid his parents' marriage had become and his brother’s salt wife was just a ghost of a person because she had no love for the prince.

“I said hold on, nephew,” his uncle said with a small smile on his lips.

“Alright then. Who am I to marry? Is she pretty at least?”

“I reckon when she is older she will be quite the beauty,” his uncle said, his smile broadening.

“Older? You mean she is a little child?” How frustrating that he would have to wait to try to court her.

“She will not be a child for much longer, but you will need to wait until a proper time to woo her, yes.”

How did his uncle know what he was thinking and why is he smiling? “Out with it, nuncle.” He said impatiently.

“You haven’t figured this one out yet, have you?” His uncle looked at him for another long torturous moment.

“Wait.” Theon’s eyes widened. “But she is like my little sister. She’s my friend. She’s not--”

“She’s not what? Theon, we couldn’t hope for a better match for you in this situation. The Starks want their daughter back as well a the North. They trust you. They know you already love her like family. We want an end to the old ways and the overthrow of your brothers. This alliance is a benefit to both.”

Theon was shaking his head, not sure what to make of the news. She was just a kid, just the little girl he had grown up with, giving her rides on his back, teaching her how to swim. Gods, she had already seen him fully naked on numerous occasions. He was just a boy then, but the humiliation at the thought of his future wife having seen him like that--

But this was Sansa, the girl he would do anything for. The girl for whom he was doing everything to protect her. Why shouldn’t this be a part of protecting her? There was a part of him deep inside that was telling him this made sense, not just strategically, but for another reason, he couldn't quite put words or thoughts to.

He wished he could write to her at this very moment. Tell her about their news, their plans. But he knew everything needed to be kept under wraps. He and his uncle had already drawn suspicion which is why his uncle had him stop writing back to Pyke. He missed hearing from Sansa. He missed her dearly. And with every passing day, the fear that she was being hurt by his father or Maron grew exponentially. He was glad this plan was finally moving forward


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara returns to Pyke and discusses the Gods with Sansa. Theon joins up with Robb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:
> 
> Sansa - 11  
Theon - 15  
Yara - 18  
Robb - 15  
Dacey - 16
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos keep me writing. I look forward to reading your feedback!

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“Come on, Little Wolf. Let’s take a walk down to the beach. I need to hear the waves crashing on the shore.”

Sansa got up from her chair in the queen’s sitting room and followed Yara out the door. Her childhood friend had just returned home the day before and she was more than happy to escape the monotony of the sewing circle.

As they walked in silence together, she looked over at her friend whose eyes were closed, chin up in the air as she seemed to be savoring the sounds, scents, and feelings of her home. Yara opened her eyes and looked at her younger friend with a smile. The older girl slid her hand into Sansa’s as they continued their descent to the beach. A warm comfort flooded through her chest.

“You have gotten too tall. Next time I return, you'll be taller than me!"

Sansa just shrugged her shoulders as they continued their walk.

When they reached the beach, Yara dropped down to sit, yanked her boots off and dug her toes underneath the sand. Sansa did the same.

“I miss this,” Yara let out with a sigh as she watched the waves come onto the beach.

“I do, too. It’s not the same without you and Theon.” Yara put her arm around Sansa’s shoulders and pulled her in for a squeeze.

"I remember the day we started teaching you to swim like it was yesterday,” her friend reminisced. “You got really good fast. You could even dive down for clams farther than Theon.”

“I think he let me win on purpose.”

“Hmmph,” Yara laughed. “You might be right on that account. You’re still better at holding your breath underwater than most Ironborn. That’s for sure.” Yara gave a big grin to her friend. The sun from two years at sea had toughened her skin and it crinkled beside her eyes when she smiled.

“Maybe,” Sansa returned the smile.

“Little Wolf, do you ever think about your people’s gods? The Old Gods?” Yara was back to gazing out at the sea.

“Sometimes, but not much. I was so young when I left, I hadn’t learned much other than to pray by the big white tree with the bleeding face carved in it.”.

“The weirwood tree. I’ve seen some of those through my travels. And what about your mother’s gods? What do you remember of them?”

“Again, not much other than visions of the statues in the sept at Winterfell. There are seven of them, right?” Sansa turned to her friend for confirmation.

“Yes. Seven. That is a lot of gods to give your attention to.” Yara laughed at the thought.

“I find the Ironborn’s faith to be much more simple to understand. But then again, it is what I have been around for most of my life. I have watched Nuncle Aeron baptize and bless many an Ironborn on this very beach. It is fascinating. And it makes sense for people whose lives revolve around the sea.”

“Hmm.” Yara was looking intently at her now.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, not at all. Do you ever desire to be baptized? Do you ever wish to have a faith to follow? A god to protect you? A god to guide you?”

“Actually, yes, I often do. I feel very lost, trapped between the beliefs of my parents and the beliefs of the people I’ve spent most of my life around. The people I will spend the rest of my life around.”

“Well, you are to be the wife of an Ironborn prince and you have grown up most of your life on Pyke. I think it only fitting to baptize you into the faith of the Drowned God.” Yara’s grin was that of happiness and pride while Sansa felt dread underneath the happiness of belonging. It confused her to think why Yara would be happy about her being a salt wife to one of her older brothers.

“Are you sure? I didn’t think salt wives received that honor.”

“Sansa, you’re an exceptional case. And I have already spoken with Nuncle Aeron. He can be a stickler for these things but he feels since you seem to be more Ironborn than greenlander in your ways, the Drowned God would approve if you survive the blessing.”

“Survive the blessing…” Sansa’s mind drifted off to the images of grown men and women being held underwater by a drowned man, the holy men of the Ironborn faith, of which Uncle Aeron seemed to be their leader.

“I think it is important for you to show the Ironborn you are one of them. You are strong,” Yara put her hand on top of Sansa’s in the sand. “For your children. So that they may be seen as legitimate heirs to the salt throne.”

“My children? But wouldn’t a rock wife’s child--” Yara cut her off and looked down at her feet in the sand.

“Not every rock wife has children that live into adulthood.”

“Oh.”

The girls sat in silence for a long while. The waves rolled and crashed toward them, the sound like a man’s voice speaking to Sansa, calling to her.

“Alright, yes, I want to be baptized into the faith of the Drowned God, into the faith of Yara and Theon Greyjoy, the faith of Rodrik Harlaw and Queen Alannys.”

Yara turned and embraced her friend in a long tight hug. She whispered in Sansa’s ear, “you are my sister more than any woman of my blood could ever be. I hope you know I love you.”

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Sansa waded in the shallow water as the waves lapped and pulled at the hem of the simple thin white linen gown Yara had dressed her in. Her red hair had been partially braided back on each side with leaves of kelp woven through. She gently touched the simple pearl resting at her collar bone, hanging from a fragile silver chain that Queen Alannys had given her, tears resting in the woman’s tired eyes as she clasped it on her neck. The woman's angry husband was holed up in his solar fuming about the ceremony and fuming about unrest bubbling up throughout the North and the Riverlands.

She focused her gaze on the man in front of her, Uncle Aeron, Damphair, a Drowned Man. His long wiry hair was already turning white. He wore a robe of brown burlap that hung heavy in the waves with seawater. He held her gaze with his ever-present seriousness. She realized at that moment that she had never seen him smile, never even seen his lips turn up at anything.

“Drowned God, let Sansa your servant be born again from the sea, as you were,” he spoke in a loud thunderous voice for all on the beach to hear over the waves. “Bless her with salt. Bless her with stone. Bless her with steel.”

“What is dead may never die,” Sansa responded in a strong unwavering voice, shoulders back, chin up.

“What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger,” the holy man answered. Then he placed one hand onto her forehead, the other to the small of her back. She knew this was her cue to breathe in deep. The Drowned Man dipped her in a swift movement, backward under the water and everything went black.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

She found herself standing at what seemed to be the bottom of the sea, her toes curling into the sand, the ends of her hair that hadn’t been braided floating in the water. But she could breathe the water as if she was breathing air.

She saw before her an older man and woman sitting hand-in-hand on matching thrones shaped like krakens, crowns of driftwood resting on their heads. The man had sandy brown hair and eyes that matched the sea around him. The woman had hair red as a flame and eyes as blue as ice. They both looked at her with intensity, as if to communicate the weight of the responsibility of the thrones they sat upon.

And just as suddenly as she found herself there, she felt arms grasp her from behind and pull her to the surface. A burning sensation in her lungs, Sansa turned onto her side in the sand, coughing up seawater. She looked up to see Yara grinning at her like a proud big sister and that told her all she needed to know.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“It’s good to see you, Greyjoy,” Robb said as he pulled Theon in for a gruff hug from their handshake. He didn’t mind the informal address that the Stark boy had begun calling him earlier that year when they had spent time together on Bear Island.

“Good to see you as well,” Theon returned. There in front of him stood the boy with Sansa’s eyes. Ever since he had found out he was her brother and not her uncle, he wondered how he had not figured it out before. He had spent so much of his childhood with the girl.

“Well, come on then. We have a short journey to Deepwood Motte. The Glovers will be hosting us for the night and I have been told they put together quite the feast. Then we head on to Winterfell in the morning. Got you one of the best horses in the North, a gift from my father upon your engagement,” Robb extended his hand toward a sturdy horse with a coat of white and caramel brown. It was different from the coursers he was used to riding. “It is a garron and will serve you well traveling through the snow here in the North. There may be no snow on the ground now, but winter is coming.”

“Thank you,” he responded, consciously trying his best to remember the polite manners his Uncle Rodrik and his mother had impressed upon him. He had relied so much on his uncle to guide him through the Northern cultures over the last couple of years and now he was on his own. While he was a prince of the Iron Islands, he had to remember he was no longer a prince over the North according to the pact he had signed with Lord Eddard Stark, who was on the verge of declaring Northern independence.

“You can thank my father upon our arrival at Winterfell,” Robb replied as he mounted his horse. Theon followed suit. 

For a moment, he sat frozen on his horse, looking out at the sea. He wasn’t sure when he would see it again but he had a feeling it would be a long time so he tried to etch the scene before him into his mind. He could just barely see a speck of Bear Island on the horizon, where not too long ago he had left, avoiding Dacey. As the boat rowed away from the dock, he looked up to see her there, an expression of confusion and possibly anger on her face. But he did the right thing. He was betrothed to someone else now and he had to protect her honor. 

Looking out at the sea, he thought about the beautiful seascape drawings a little red-haired girl might be creating from a tower window at this very moment. He wished he could write and ask her to send him one. His memories would have to do for now. Just as his memories of Sansa would have to do.

“Come on, brother,” he heard Robb call to him. Theon looked at Robb with a bit of surprise to see a genuine smile on the other boy’s face. He was right after all. One day they would be brothers. And Robb would be a far better brother than Rodrik or Maron had ever been to him. With that, Theon turned his horse to follow the party from Winterfell that had greeted him at the dock, men he had met over the course of negotiations. Men who had the trust of Lord Eddard Stark. So much so that he had entrusted them with the safety of his future son-in-law and in turn the safety of his daughter. Because if any harm came to himself, he shuddered to think what his father and brothers would do to Sansa. He had to hope Yara’s part of the plan was moving ahead smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter accidentally ended up focusing on future sibling-in-law bonding. Gotta love happy accidents.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
There is attempted rape and physical violence in this chapter.
> 
> Dagmer helps Sansa out of a terrifying situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 12  
Theon - 16  
Yara - 19
> 
> Thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos keep me going.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Year 297 AC

She felt something cold and wet nudging at her face. She raised her hands to wipe away whatever it was and found herself brushing at fur. Flashing open suddenly, her eyes focused on the face in front of her, white and grey fur, dark eyes, and a big pink tongue that licked at her face again, as if encouraging her to get up.

As she rose to her feet, she looked around to find herself on the beach at Pyke, but something didn’t quite seem right. The wolf beside her began to nudge at the back of her knees, pushing her toward the water. And then she heard a howl from across the water. Looking out far in the distance, standing on the surface of the water, she could see Robb, Theon, and Yara. The same grey wolf by Robb’s side howled again and the wolf by her side ran out into the water.

“Wait!” Sansa shouted at the wolf, reaching out for her. But the wolf didn’t run into the water. It ran on top of the water racing toward the others. Halfway there, it stopped and turned back as if beckoning her to follow. As she went to step out onto the water, she felt someone grip her arm and yank her back on the beach.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

She bolted up in her bed, the cold dark night air of Pyke swirling around her. Fear pierces her mind at the realization that she is no longer in the dream but someone is still gripping her arm. A dark figure kneeling next to her on her bed and grasps her other arm, shoving her back down onto the bed. As she goes to scream, a piece of cloth is jammed into her mouth. She struggles under the weight of her attacker.

“Quiet, Little Wolf Bitch,” a man growled.

Sansa froze. She knew that voice.

Maron.

Fear swept over her body in huge crashing waves. She had feared this day would come. Yara had warned her about the men in her family.

Yara had warned her and Yara had taught her how to fight back.

Just as Maron began to run his hand down her side pulling at her nightgown, she jolted her knee up into his groin with all her might.

This gave her just enough time to slide out from his loosened grasp as he yelped in pain. Sansa dropped onto the floor. As she scrambled back to her feet, she could feel Maron clutch at her hair, yanking her head backward.

“Where do you think you’re going, salt wife?” He called out in a guttural voice.

Sansa yanked the cloth out of her mouth and clasped at her scalp trying to relieve some of the pain from the hold he had on her hair.

“I am not your salt wife,” she screamed back as loud as she could, hoping someone might hear.

He yanked back on her hair even harder, pulling her ear up against his mouth.

“Since you arrived on this island, you have always been my salt wife,” he angrily rasped into her ear. The moist warmth of his breath in her ear made her want to vomit.

The realization began to hit her that this was the moment Yara and Theon had been preparing her for. It was never really about protecting her from Balon’s beatings. It was to protect her from the sick cruelness of their older brothers and uncles who were full believers in the Old Ways.

As Maron held her by the hair, she reached out to her bedside table for the pair of sewing sheers she had left by her embroidery as she had fallen asleep earlier. Wrapping her hand around the sheers with the blades pointing up, she thrust them as hard as she could into Maron’s face.

She felt his sudden release on her hair as he screeched in agony. Scrambling to her feet she ran out the door.

“You little northern cunt!” She heard him howl as she ran down the hall not quite sure where to go, just knowing she needed to get away from him. If she ran out of the castle, someone would just bring her back to answer for what she did and right now, Maron was the only person awake in the castle. She knew there was one place she could hide that he may not find and she ran for the rope bridges out to the Sea Tower. All she could hope is that she get out there quick enough to hide from him until morning when the rest of the castle awakened.

She continued to hear his outraged cries for her through the halls. Others would soon be awake to find him stalking through the halls. He most definitely would wake Taisiya and her baby. She had to hope they would stay put in their chambers and not suffer from Maron’s wrath.

As she approached the cliff edge at the rope bridge, all she could see before her was the dark of night, the moon covered by storm clouds. She could taste the salt of the sea mist mixed with rain soaking her to the bone and she knew the bridge would be slick and even more treacherous. The sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks far below reminded her of the peril she faced if she did not hold on tight.

Hearing Maron closing in on her from the keep, she grasped the rope railings on each side and took her first step out onto the footboards of the bridge. Her bare feet slid across the slimy wood and she began to fall, the rope catching under her arms. She gathered herself back up and took a few more precarious steps across the bridge, getting herself out of arms reach of the cliff’s edge.

She felt a tug at the ropes and froze.

“You can’t hide from me, you stupid whore! You're going to pay for what you did.” She felt him step onto the planks of the bridge, making it even more unsteady.

She attempted to move forward on the bridge but her progress was slow. She felt him grab her around the waist, trying to pull her back to the keep in one arm. She kept her grip on the railings, her hands burning as the rope ripped through her skin.

Suddenly, she heard a thud and he released her, dropping down to her knees on the planks. From the corner of her eye, she could just barely see his figure crumple and fall over the edge and disappear into the dark below. 

She released a small shriek and spun her head back to see the dark shape of another man on the cliff’s edge an ax hanging from his hand.

“Shh, Little Wolf, hush. We must leave now, quickly and quietly,” Dagmer reached out his hand to grasp her, pulling her back onto solid rock. “Come before the whole castle awakens.

She nodded and with a rush of energy flowing through her veins, ran after her teacher. Had he just killed the prince to save her, a hostage, a salt wife, a nobody? She swept the thought and it’s weight to the back of her mind, running through the corridors.

Dagmer led her down to the beach. At the end, behind large rocks was a small rowboat.

“Get in,” he gruffed at her. She quickly complied as he pushed the boat into the rough waves. “It’s a good thing the young prince and princess showed you how to swim, girl. This is going to be a rough ride.”

In the dark of night, Dagmer rowed them out to sea. Sansa sat opposite the surly old man she had come to trust, feeling helpless as she began to shiver, rubbing her raw torn hands on her arms to find some warmth. She wasn’t sure how long they were out there at the mercy of the sea, praying to the Drowned God to keep their little boat safe.

As they got further out, away from the rocks, the light of the sun began to peek up in the east and the stormy waves began to calm. In the distance, Sansa could see a familiar ship, Dagmer’s ship, _ Foamdrinker _. Relief swept over her as she saw men jump into action at the site of their little boat, Dagmer breathing heavily and seeming ready to pass out at any moment.

The crew got them up on the deck and with renewed energy, Dagmer began to shout orders. Soon the ship was headed north beyond the Flint Cliffs.

“Come now, girl, let’s get you warm and fed,” the old man spoke gently as he placed a blanket over her shoulders.

He led her to the captain’s cabin, pulling a trunk from behind his desk.

“There should be a fresh change of clothes in there. The princess saw to it that everything you need would be in this,” he said in his gravelly voice. 

“Yara? What do you mean by everything I need? You knew this would happen? You--you planned for this?” Sansa said incredulously. Her mind was spinning.

“Get dressed, Little Wolf, and then we’ll talk. I’ll go see about that food.” He walked out of the cabin shutting the door behind him, leaving her to change.

She fell down to the floor on her knees, cradling her face in her palms, and began to sob as the reality of what had occurred swept over her.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

She sat staring at Dagmer as he finished his story. They had freed her. Yara, Theon, Uncle Rodrik, and Dagmer had freed her.

“I’m--I’m free.”

“Yes, sweet girl, but we aren’t out of danger yet. We need to get you to the safety of Bear Island. There you will be protected by your father’s bannermen as well as by Yara and her portion of the Iron Fleet.”

“Yara has part of the Iron Fleet! How?” Her eyes were wide with shock. Last Sansa knew she had still been traveling on Rodrik’s ship, _ Black Wind _.

“Aye, there was a bit of mutiny on the _ Black Wind _. Rodrik went to see the Drowned God. Word has not reached the king yet. Yara was holding off until I could get you out of there.” He spoke with sadness. Dagmer had trained Rodrik, had trained Maron. They had been like sons to him. And now…

“They are both dead.” Sansa looked down at her bowl of stew.

“Aye.”

“When Balon finds out--”

“He’ll be after our heads, the lot of us. That is why we got everyone to safety.”

“That means Theon is the heir to the Salt Throne,” her thought drifted off as an image of the man and woman on the kraken thrones flashed in her mind.

“Aye, and a far better king he will be than those brothers of his ever could be.”

“Is that why you helped them?”

“That and because I couldn’t see you suffer as a salt wife to their cruelty. That is no life for you, Little Wolf. You are destined for bigger and better things in this world.” The old man looked straight into her eyes with a softness she remembers seeing in those early days of her combat and weapons training when the bow seemed just as big as her.

She got up from her seat and went around his desk, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. She felt him stiffen from the contact and then gradually patted her on the back. Tears ran down her cheeks out of gratitude for the love and affection this grumpy old man imparted to her.

“Alright, girl,” he chuckled. “Time for you to get some rest and I need to go check on my crew. You have a long journey ahead of you. Bear Island is not your final destination.”

“Where am I going from there?”

“Why, to your home, of course.”

“My home?” Her eyes got wide. “You mean Winterfell!”

“Aye, your family has been waiting a long time for this and so has Prince Theon.”

“Prince Theon? Why? Where is he? He’s still with Uncle Rodrik, correct?" She thought she saw a hint of a smirk on Dagmer's dour face.

“He is at Winterfell, my dear. They have offered him protection from Balon’s wrath,” he explained as he approached the door. “Get some rest. Sleep well, Little Wolf.”

“Thank you, Dagmer.”

Sansa curled up under the covers of the bed in the cabin. As the sea lulled her to sleep, she imagined seeing all her friends and family again. She imagined seeing the boy who made her heart do little flips every time he had returned to Pyke over the years. Soon, she was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost there! One more year until we get to the time of Game of Thrones (298 AC).


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon observes the court of the North at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 12  
Theon - 16  
Yara - 19  
Robb - 16  
Arya - 10  
Bran - 9  
Rickon - 7  
Dacey Mormont- 17  
Wynafryd Manderly - 17
> 
> I am trying my best to update this every 6 to 7 days. This took a bit longer to write and flesh out. Hope you like it.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Your comments, kudos, bookmarks, and sharing with others is greatly appreciated and keep me motivated.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

I do not belong here, Theon thought, looking around the Great Hall of Winterfell, all of the Stark bannermen and bannerwomen assembled. He could hear rumblings of anticipation carry softly through the air. With all the hum and energy, Theon could feel suspicious eyes on him.

He had felt like a fish out of water since his arrival at the great northern keep a year ago. He had never seen a castle as massive as Winterfell. Even in all his travels on the _Black Wind_ and the _Sea Song_, the Stark stronghold was an intimidating sight to behold. Where Pyke seemed to teeter on the edge of existence, Winterfell seemed indestructible, destined to remain for many more millennia to come.

And he had never been this far from the sea. It had been too long since he’d seen the sea. An ache like an empty space in his heart made him yearn for the smell of saltwater in the air. He wondered how much longer it would be before they met again.

The Starks had given him a cordial welcome, no doubt helped along by Robb’s outward brotherly affections for him. The journey from Deepwood Motte to Winterfell had only strengthened their friendship. Along the way, Theon realized he had never had a friend like Robb before, another boy just like him. His brothers had been older, but they had never offered a single friendly gesture toward him in all his memories. One was a cruel drunk, the other a sick deranged man. His sister was his sister, who he loved dearly, but as they grew older, there was a divide in their friendliness. And Sansa was Sansa, his friend, yes, but always more of a little sister he felt the need to protect and now, now she was to be his lady wife, his rock wife. That changed everything. It would be so different the next time they saw one another.

Lady Stark had woven a tapestry with his family sigil and hung it above his bed in his chambers. Lord Stark included him in his daily meeting with Robb in his solar. He was also given a seat on the dais with the family at meals and feasts. Ser Rodrik, the master-at-arms, a man who seemed to be a combination of his Uncle Rodrik and Dagmer, Pyke’s own master-at-arms, trained him right alongside the Stark boys. The knight was a comforting presence to Theon on his most homesick days. The little boys, Bran and Rickon, never ceased their questions about the sea and pirates and the Iron Islands. They hung on his every word when he told them legends of the Ironborn, to the chagrin of Lady Catelyn and her ever-present distrusting eyes. 

If he were honest, the one member of the Stark household who truly reminded him of his own family was Arya. He noticed her sneaking about in trousers, running off into the Godswood with weapons she snagged from the training yard. One day, a few months after his arrival, he was out in the woods getting in some target practice in the peace and quiet away from the castle, when he caught her watching him. 

Since that day, in secret, Theon had been teaching Arya how to use a bow, even going to Wintertown to have one made just for her. He knew the Starks would be displeased with him going behind their backs and teaching their daughter who was supposed to be a lady how to use a weapon, but his life experience had taught him that a woman who was trained in arms and combat was better prepared for the realities of life. A strong woman who knew how to defend herself was a formidable woman.

The death of his brothers taught him that.

Sansa’s little sister was so much like his own sister, even their taunting japes with one another made him miss Yara greatly. He had been separated from his family and it hurt. But every time he began to feel sorry for himself, he remembered that Sansa still was not reunited with her family. That she had spent most of her life as a hostage, apart from those who loved her most. The better he got to know her family, the more impatient he got for the day they would finally be able to see them together.

“Greyjoy, that girl over there seems to be looking at you,” Robb nudged Theon with his elbow to shake him out of his reverie. “Over there, with the party from Bear Island. She’s Lady Mormont’s daughter, right?”

Theon’s stomach dropped as he looked over in the direction Robb had indicated.

Dacey Mormont. She was looking right at him. There was no question. When she caught his eye, he saw in her face an expression of hopefulness and expectation, a somewhat flirtatious look. And she wasn’t trying to hide it at all, right there in front of his future bride’s family.

But how could the girl know? He had left Bear Island without a good-bye. He just didn’t know how to tell her that he had been promised to another. He was a coward. And while many of the key Lords and Ladies in the negotiations knew about the betrothal, word had been kept quiet for Sansa’s safety while she was still in Balon’s custody.

Well, she would find out soon. That is why Lord Stark had finally called all his loyal houses together on this day. They had recently received a raven informing them that Sansa was safely away from Pyke. Lord Stark was about to reveal the terms of their negotiations and the plans for the future of the North, the Riverlands, and the Iron Islands.

Theon broke Dacey’s gaze and looked over to his future good-father sitting on the Winterfell throne, his hands gripped to the wolves carved on the arms. He then gave his delayed response to Robb’s question.

“Aye, she’s the heir to Bear Island.”

“Right. She was quite good with the morningstar if I remember correctly.”

“Aye.” Theon kept his responses brief hoping Robb would end his line of questioning. His palms were getting sweaty. And while he knew he had done nothing wrong, he was nervous that something would happen to make a public scene. He was nervous that Dacey may feel slighted and act out. He was nervous she might corner him when he is alone like so many times she did on Bear Island.

“And she is so tall. Quite the She-bear. She’s gotten prettier since I last remember.”

Theon shrugged, continuing to keep his eyes on Lord Stark.

“Too bad she’s the heir,” Robb said wistfully. After a few moments of silence, he continued, “she has sisters, right? Are they as pretty as her?”

“Mmm, uh…”

“No mind, brother,” Robb said with a laugh, slapping him on the back. “I’ll have a chance to meet more of them soon enough. I’ve heard some of them will be traveling with our sisters upon Sansa’s return.”

His neck tiring of craning to look toward Lord Stark, Theon began to scan the rest of the hall, curious about the sigils he saw on display, straining to recall his Uncle Rodrik’s lessons.

He never let Theon forget how important it was for a prince to know all the houses and sigils of Westeros and to whom they were loyal. Of course, he knew the black bear of House Mormont and the mailed fist of House Glover, both of which extended their hospitality to him graciously. He recognized the Cerwyn battle-axe, the Hornwood bull-moose, the Karstark sunburst, the Umber giant, and the Flayed Man of House Bolton whose tales sent shivers down his spine. 

There were many others he would have to ask Robb to refresh his memory. But his favorite of the northern sigils was always the merman of House Manderly. It was no surprise that his kraken spirit would find a kinship with the lords and ladies of White Harbor. He heard legend of the Merman’s Court, the great hall in the New Castle, its walls meticulously decorated with all the creatures of the sea. Since the day he learned of this place, he hoped to see it with his own eyes. And now, he imagined a day where he would visit with his queen at his side, a woman of both the sea and the North. He had a feeling the Manderlys would be key to maintaining a strong relationship between the Iron Islands and the North.

“Do you know many of the Manderlys?” He leaned over and said to Robb in a hushed voice.

“Aye, Lord Wyman’s sons are loyal knights to our House. His granddaughters are quite beautiful. You see his eldest granddaughter, Wynafred, has accompanied her grandfather and uncle since she is the second in line to seat of the Merman’s Court.” Robb explained. Theon noticed a change in his friend’s gaze and followed it to the tall girl, no, tall woman, standing proudly by a very large overweight older man who could only be Wyman Maderly as he had been described to him. Going from the girl to his friend by his side, he could see there was a dreamy glaze that had washed over Robb’s eyes and it was no wonder.

Wynafryd Manderly would halt the breath of anyone. Her long auburn hair was held in a thick braid draped over her shoulder. She had sleepy, sultry eyes with the power to draw in most men’s hearts, with just barely the hint of a smile on her darkly-colored full lips. Her curvacious body was held tall and proud in her traditional northern gown, displaying both the femininity and strength that he noticed many noble ladies of the North possessed, is if to let those around them know they are just as capable as the men of their equal station. He was not surprised at all that the girl caught Robb’s eye.

“But she is the heir to White Harbour, is she not?” He asked his friend, wondering how his future brother was to find a wife when all the great beauties of the North seemed to be directly in line to rule their own houses. 

“Aye, but her grandfather still lives and her father is young. There is a high likelihood that if she married a lord of a greater house that her second child would be old enough to inherit the title by that time,” Robb told him with a small sigh. “Let a man dream of a strong gorgeous woman at his side, will you?” He gave Theon a smile and a nudge with his elbow.

With those words, Theon imagined a stubborn little girl with hair like fire braided over her shoulder and blue eyes like ice, standing fiercely by his side. He just still had a hard time imagining her as his lady wife, as a woman, rather than a kid who was practically his little sister.

And with that thought, he heard Lord Stark call the hall to attention, rising from his throne. The sweat in Theon's palms increasing, heat rising up through his collar. He became fully enveloped by the fear that his nerves ignited in him at the prospect of all those eyes in the hall turning to him shortly.

“My loyal bannermen and women, thank you for heeding my call at this precarious moment in our history,” Lord Eddard spoke in a strong yet tempered voice.

“Your presence here today speaks volumes to the plight of our culture and way of life in the North. For too long we have been at the mercy of kings from the outside, kings who did not know our ways or our people, kings that do not know our Old Gods. Almost three centuries ago, our ancestor knelt to dragons and gave up our independence. It was a necessary thing in the face of dragons,” he paused, letting the past sink into the minds of those in front of him.

“But there are no more dragons. The kings that seek to rule us are just men with selfish ambitions to plunder and steal our resources, to seek glory in claiming our land as their own. This is not their land. This is our land. Did King Robert come to our aid when we were occupied by the Kraken King?” He asked looking around the great hall.

“No!” the shout resounded through the room. Theon could feel some of the eyes angrily turn onto him.

“Was the old Kraken King satisfied to just rule his own independent islands?”

“No!”

“It is time to set ourselves free!”

“Aye!” Fists raised up and pumped through the air around the room.

“Are you ready to fight for a free North?”

“Aye!”

“The old Kraken King is weak, his eldest sons have perished because they were weak of morals and righteousness. He raised them in the Ironborn’s Old Ways, caring nothing of the hurt and pain it caused the people of their occupied territories. But what he failed to pay his attention to was the mind of his youngest son, a young man who learned of the ways of his grandfather who had tried to reform the islands. A young man who learned to hold compassion in his heart for others. A young man who rebelled against his father to better the Ironborn and return our lost daughter of the North to us.” Cheers rose up louder around the hall, Robb giving Theon another nudge with his arm.

“It is with this same young man that lords of the Riverlands and myself and a number of Northern lords and ladies here today have negotiated an allegiance of independent kingdoms. No longer will one king strive to rule seven as one realm from an Iron throne at the top of a distant hill detached from the concerns of their people. No longer will we attempt to occupy each other’s kingdoms in power grabs to fend off the rulers on that throne of swords.”

“Today I proclaim the North as an independent kingdom and strive to eradicate our shores of foreign invaders.”

“Aye!” The roars were louder than anything Theon had ever heard.

“My good-brother in the Riverlands is here to support our claim to independence,” Lord Stark gestures towards Lord Edmure Tully at his side. “And we shall support the Riverlands’ claim to independence as well.”

“And it is with pride that today I announce the betrothal of my eldest daughter, the lost wolf, to this conscientious young man I speak of,” Lord Eddard directed his attention at Theon, “the heir to the Salt Throne and the Iron Islands, ready to reform his homeland and restore relations with the other kingdoms, he is here to support our claim. And we will support his claim to the Salt Throne.” Theon braced himself for hostile silence or even hostile arguments over his betrothal.

Instead, he heard a thunderous sound of cheers and joyous shouts of camaraderie. He felt hands from all directions reach out to touch his shoulder and slap his back in encouragement and congratulations.

“Our new alliance will strengthen our independence through mutual support. By wedding my house to the ruling house of Pyke, it is my hope that this alliance with continue into future generations.”

Theon was overwhelmed by the response. But now his father would soon find out about the extent of his treachery and Balon's reprisals on him and his sister and uncle would be great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robb is such a teenage boy in this chapter. 
> 
> I am in the midst of reading the books. I just finished Clash of Kings. This story is really turning into a hybrid fanfic of both, especially because the show does not give us as much detail as the books. Hope it isn't too jarring, especially if you are someone who is only familiar with one or the other.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa arrives on Bear Island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions keep me going. I appreciate every one. Thank you for sticking with this story.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

The Drowned God had been good to them since they left the Iron Islands. Sansa stood at the railing on the deck of the _ Foamdrinker_, soaking in the warm midday summer sun, squinting as the light reflected off the water like crystals strewn about the gentle waves. She had never felt warmth like this in all her life. It had still been winter during her earliest memories, her early childhood at Winterfell. And even though the summer had come as she grew up on Pyke, that place had always maintained a bit of gloom and seemed to rain there every day, even on the days when the sun stole through the clouds for a precious few hours.

She had heard Dagmer mention this was the longest summer he could remember. Even as they headed north to Bear Island, to the Bay of Ice, there was no ice in sight.

“There it is,” Sansa heard Dagmer’s gruff voice approaching behind her. “The isle of the She-Bears.” As he came up beside her, she strained to look out in the distance. Sure enough, there was a green-grey landform on the horizon ahead.

“Why do they call them She-Bears?” Sansa wondered aloud.

“You don’t know?” The old man said with a bit of a surprise. “Well, I guess you would have been too young to learn about your father’s vassal houses before you were taken and I know Balon didn’t worry much for your education.” There was a soft pity in his tone.

“The She-Bears are the Lady of Bear Island and her heirs. I guess you should know who’ll be sheltering you until we can get you safe passage to your family,” Dagmer sat down on a barrel and rested his arm along the railing, settling in to tell a story.

“Lady Maege Mormont is the head of House Mormont, Lady of Bear Island, and she ain’t called a bear just because of the island’s name. She is fierce and strong as a mother bear and her five daughters follow right in her tracks.”

“All women,” Sansa spoke softly. “Does she have any sons?”

“Mmm, no. Just the girls. Her nephew was the Lord of Bear Island for a time but he committed crimes against the crown, Robert’s crown, and your father ordered his execution but he fled Westeros and hasn’t been seen since. He had been stripped of his titles and left no issue of his own, so that is how we got the six She-Bears. The island has a long history of warrior women who are trained in combat to protect the island while the men are at sea.”

“So, Yara must enjoy their company,” Sansa turned and smiled at her combat teacher.

“Aye, that she does,” he chuckled and took a swig from the flask he pulled out from beneath his vest, the strong scent of the spiced rum floating on the breeze. “You as well. Haven’t had much opportunity to make friends your age. I believe the middle She-Bear is about your age. Might be nice for you to train with girls your age, m’lady.”

“Oh, I’m no lady, ser,” Sansa answered shocked at the title Dagmer had bestowed her.

“I’m definitely no ser,” he huffed. “But you are most assuredly a lady. Always have been, the daughter of a lord paramount. It was Balon’s utter disdain for your father that led the Ironborn around you to not risk his ire by calling you your proper title. I’m afraid the queen may not have fully prepared you for the role ahead of you.”

Sansa turned from Dagmer to look out again at the island ahead, slowly growing in size, his words echoing in her head. She knew she would have greater responsibilities as the daughter of Lord Stark upon her return. But the way the old man at her side spoke of her future made her think there was something more she didn’t know about, a feeling that had been growing since Dagmer put his ax to Maron, wondering why he would have done that for her, just a future salt wife, a greenlander.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

The first thing she saw beside the natural beauty of Bear Island was the _ Blackwind, _chills shivering down her spine out of years of conditioning at the site of that ship. Theon had confided to her the horrors he and Taisiya had experienced at his brother’s hand after his return all those years ago. She knew now he had told her those tales as a warning of the cruelty his brothers possessed.

Looking upon the black sail of the longship with the gold kraken reaching across its expanse, she had to remind herself that Rodrik Greyjoy was dead, that the ship before her was now captained by Yara, her friend, her sister in spirit. She was about to be reunited with Yara and the sense of security that brought to her was immense. There were only two people in her whole life that she fully trusted and soon she would be reunited with both of them. This realization tugged at the back of her mind, realizing that she didn't include her own blood in those numbers. She did not know them so how could she. She could only fully trust the two people she shared childhood with. They were three people who had shared their deepest fears and showed affection to one another as she had never seen between any others.

As they approached the small harbor, Sansa’s thoughts drifted to Theon. She missed him with an ache in her heart. He had been her best friend for so many years but as he got older and his responsibilities grew, they had drifted apart, literally. She hadn’t seen him in years, hadn’t received a letter in a long while. She thought he may have found new friends. Better friends. Pretty friends closer to his age. He could only ever see her as a little girl. But now, with her newfound freedom, she was realizing his silence may have been out of safety and secrecy. The small hope that he may miss her just as much as she missed him caused her stomach to flutter.

She noticed figures coming down to the dock as she lowered into the rowboat with the trunk Yara had lovingly packed for her journey. She had almost started crying again when she had dug through the trunk to find items from her mother, dolls Yara and Queen Alannys had made for her, and Theon’s book of fairy tales that he read to her when she was little. There was even a small box of drawing charcoals and a bundle of thick cream-colored paper tied up in a grey ribbon. She was careful to make sure the trunk settled safely in the rowboat.

As Dagmer and one of his men rowed them toward the island, Sansa leaned forward straining her eyes to find Yara. There were several women and girls on the shore in various forms of armor. Like a rock skipping across the water, she heard a loud whistle and saw Yara break away from the group, running down the dock to meet them. Sansa let out a breath as a wave of relief washed over her.

She didn’t even wait for Dagmer to secure the boat. As soon as they were alongside the dock, Sansa reached for Yara’s hand and leaped up onto the wooden planks, immediately embraced in a tight rocking hug. She felt her friend’s heaving breaths on her neck. And as Yara released a sob, Sansa realized they were both crying, both sobbing.

“Little wolf,” Yara whispered in her ear as she stroked her hand through the younger girl’s hair. Sansa let out another loud sob into her friend’s shoulder, her chest heaving and shaking. They were sobs of relief at knowing her eight years of abuse as a hostage were over. 

She wasn’t sure how long the two of them stood there holding on tightly, fiercely, expressing their shared relief in their combined freedom. But it must have been a powerful enough moment for when Yara led her up to meet Lady Mormont, there was hardly a dry eye in front of her.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“So where are your other ships?” Sansa asked as she put away her things in the wardrobe beside her bed. Yara had kicked off her boots by the fire and was lounging on her back across the other bed in the room. Mormont Keep was beautiful and fit for the island it belonged to but it was small, nowhere near the size of Pyke. Therefore, Sansa and Yara had been given a room to share during their stay. When she wasn't at sea, it served as Yara’s home on land since Prince Rodrik died and would continue to do so until Balon died.

“They are on the north side of the island to avoid passing eyes who might report their location to my father,” she explained as she twirled a dagger in her hands.

“Where is Nuncle Rodrik? Are his ships safe?” Sansa asked with a worried tone.

“He is somewhere off of Essos. Not exactly sure where but that is by design.”

“By design?” Sansa queried. “What exactly have you all been planning? Why didn’t you tell me about any of it?”

Yara sat up on the edge of the bed to face her. “We did it to protect you. I’m deeply sorry we kept things from you, but just know everything we did, everything we are doing is to protect you and to protect the people of the Iron Islands from my father’s cruel, selfish foolishness.”

“I just-I thought I had lost most of the joy in my life. I was losing hope thinking I would hardly ever see you and Theon again because you would live more of your life at sea while I was trapped on that island with your miserable father and-,” Sansa paused, that horrifying night running from Maron flashing across her mind. “And M-m-m-m-” 

She was trembling, tears dripping from her face. Yara got up from her bed, closing the distance between them and embraced her in a comforting hug.

“Shhh, he is dead. You will never see him again. He can never hurt you ever again.”

“I-I-I th-th-th-thought I was going to have to be his salt wife. You said so yourself. You encouraged me to follow the Drowned God so I would be a good wife to an Ironborn prince.”

“Oh Sans,” Yara pulled back to look her in the face. “I never said you would be his salt wife. There were many reasons I wanted Nuncle Aeron to baptize you, but that was never one.”

“But you said-” Sansa shook her head in confusion. Yara lifted her hands to cup the sides of her younger friend’s face. She smiled at the fretting girl with fire in her hair.

“Sansa, you will marry an Ironborn prince.”

“What, but how? They are dead," she watched as Yara's smile grew even wider. "Wait, but, wait, how?"

Yara pulled her over to sit on the edge of the bed and sat next to her, cradling Sansa's hand between both of hers.

"Over the last few years, Theon and Nuncle Rodrik have been negotiating a secret alliance with your father and your grandfather, Hoster Tully. They have agreed to help Theon and I overthrow our father and restore our grandfather Quellon Greyjoy's reforms."

"And in return, what are you offering?"

"Our ships to assist with their fight for independence, a sovereign North and a sovereign Riverland as well as-," Yara paused, touching her hand to Sansa's cheek, wiping away a tear with her thumb.

"As well as what?" Sansa asked softly, her heart starting to race as her mind began to put the pieces together.

"A betrothal between House Greyjoy and House Stark to tie all three houses together by blood. Sansa, you are betrothed to Theon. You will be the queen of the Iron Islands. You will be my true good-sister."

She sucked in a deep breath. She felt like her heart might leap out of her chest. In her dreams, she may have hoped over the years that Balon would allow Theon to take her as a salt wife instead of his older brothers but she never dared to imagine something like this. 

She couldn't remember ever feeling this much joy. She thought her heart might burst out of her chest. She was going home to her family, where her friend, her betrothed, her prince was waiting for her. It was like one of her fairytale books.

She grabbed Yara in a tight squeeze.

“Oh, Yara.” Tears ran down both girls’ cheeks for the second time that day.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

That first night in Mormont Keep as Sansa drifted to sleep, she found herself once again at the bottom of the sea, her hair floating around her. But she wasn’t standing in the sand this time. She was sitting on a giant sandstone chair and someone was holding her hand. As she looked up at the man’s face, looking in his eyes, she realized she knew him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me on Tumblr at sapphire-reverie
> 
> Thank you again for reading this story!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A feast is held at Bear Island in honor of the princess of the North before she returns home to Winterfell. Robb and Theon go hunting and find they are not alone in the Wolfswood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages:  
Sansa - 12  
Theon - 16  
Yara - 19  
Robb - 16  
Arya - 10  
Bran - 9  
Rickon - 7  
Dacey Mormont- 17  
Alysane Mormont - 16  
Lyra Mormont - 12  
Jorelle Mormont - 8  
Lyanna Mormont - 7  
Larence Snow - 12
> 
> As always, your comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions keep me writing. I especially LOVE LOVE LOVE reading your comments.
> 
> Please come say hi to me on Tumblr at sapphire-reverie

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“Would you like more wine, your grace?”

Sansa’s response to the serving girl was delayed. Every time someone called her "your grace" or "princess" she thought they were speaking to Yara. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it. This serving girl was of the North and Sansa was her princess. Her father was now this girl’s king, so declared by her lady, Maege Mormont, and unanimously by the rest of the Northern vassal houses.

“No thank you,” she answered shyly, her cheeks rosy and warm from the small glass she had with her meal. Balon had never let her partake in the wine or ale on Pyke, severely admonishing one server who had offered it to her, telling them he would not waste good drink on a “Northern wolf bitch”.

It had been a long while since she had endured insults and beatings. It was so unreal, she almost thought she was dreaming. 

Looking around the great hall, she watched with a smile on her face, the joy and comradery being shared between all. It was a far cry from the gloomy, sad hall at Pyke. It had been a wonderful place early in her childhood on the island. The king would bring in bards and vassal lords would visit from around the kingdom. But as Balon’s reign and terror of the Old Ways spread across his territories, fewer and fewer people ventured to pay homage and respect to him. Soon, there were no more celebratory feasts and supper was a chore to attend by all.

She had noticed over her stay in Mormont Keep, that Lady Maege frequently honored Dagmer with a seat by her side. Stories of the younger She-Bears’ father seemed shrouded in mystery. She had heard varying accounts from a variety of sources because maids and cooks loved to tell stories. Lady Maege Mormont was a fiercely independent and strong woman. But she had noticed a small crack in that tough exterior when she was around the old master-at-arms.

“Yara,” she leaned over to whisper to her friend, her eyes still on the elder pair, “Dagmer and Lady Mormont?”

“They’re not trying to hide that at all are they,” Yara quietly responded as she chewed on a chunk of bread. “I guess they’ve known each other since they were somewhere between our ages. I know the _ Foamdrinker _ has spent a decent amount of time up in these seas over the decades.” Yara looked as Sansa with raised eyebrows and a wicked smirk.

“Are the girls-” Sansa began to ask before Yara cut interrupted.

“Who knows? But don’t mention it. No one seems to discuss their father or Lady Mormont’s dead husband so just leave it be.”

As the meal wound down, a Northman began plucking away at a lute. The man next to him began to stomp and clap out a danceable beat. Sansa found herself tapping her toe.

She watched as the Mormont girls grabbed some boys and pulled them out to the center of the room. As they danced, the lute player began to sing:

_ “A bear there was, a bear, a bear! _

_ All black and brown, and covered with hair. _

_ The bear! The bear!...” _

Sansa remembered this song. She had heard it played at Winterfell. The song brought a wave of nostalgia and comfort over her. She was so close to home.

“Hey there, maiden fair,” Alysane Mormont, the second eldest of the She-Bear daughters said to Yara, leaning over the front of the table on one elbow, raising her eyebrows with a crooked smile. “Want to dance with a bear?” 

“Aye, that I do!” Yara responded as she jumped up and joined Alysane, spinning around the center of the room, her face full of laughter and joy. It warmed Sansa’s heart to see Yara so free, so herself out in the open. This place was so good for her.

“Pardon me, your grace,” a shaky voice asked from the corner of Sansa’s view. She turned to see a boy about her age, bowed slightly. When he looked up at her, she was enchanted by his handsome face and expressive eyes. “It would be an honor if you would bless me with a dance.”

She could tell it had taken him a lot of courage to approach her, and even though she was nervous to dance, not having done so since practicing with Theon and Yara before that had set off to the sea, she knew it was only proper to dance with him.

“Why, of course,” Sansa answered with a smile. He put out his hand and she took it as she rose from her seat. As they joined the dance, she asked, “are you from Bear Island?”

“No, your grace, I’m Larence Snow, ward of Lord Glover. We have come to escort you and your party to Deepwood Motte on the morrow and then to join you on your return to Winterfell."

Snow. Hearing the name reminded her of her brother Jon. She wondered where he was if he was safe. She had not heard a word about him.

“It is so nice to meet you. And please, just call me Sansa.”

“But, your grace, I--” He twirled her around and out. When they came back together, Sansa interjected with a smile.

“Please excuse my informality. I forget my place, my role sometimes.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, princess.” He spoke with a smile spread across his face, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight as they spun across the room.

And for the next few hours, the young people in the hall at Mormont Keep danced until they could dance no more. Spinning around the floor, laughing, and holding hands with Yara, Sansa realized she had never had so much fun in all her life. One day, she would be Queen of Pyke and she would make sure there were many happy nights like this for the people of the Iron Islands.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

It was a crisp misty morning on the edge of the Wolfswood at Deepwood Motte as they prepared for their journey. Lord Glover had informed them that it would take about six to seven days with no unforeseen trouble to reach Winterfell.

While she was impatient to be reunited with her family and Theon, Sansa was excited at the prospect of a horseback adventure through the thick forest. Riding Theon’s horse around Pyke to escape the castle and release some of her pent up anger over the past few years had helped her hone her riding skills. Dagmer had even encouraged her to take her bow and quiver to practice while riding. Now she would have a chance to put her skills to use.

“Little sister, hold still,” Yara directed as she grabbed at Sansa’s breastplate. The Mormonts had gifted her a set of boiled leather armor with a direwolf emblazoned on the chest. Now she fit right in with the She-Bears and the princess of Pyke, all of them in armor and trousers. They must have made quite a sight, seven women prepared for combat. The look on Lord Glover’s face as they gathered to head out told her this was not a sight he saw often.

Yara tightened the straps at Sansa’s side and stepped back.

“There. Now, just one more thing,” Yara walked over to her horse and pulled something from her saddle sack. Returning to stand before Sansa, she held out an object wrapped in rough fabric.

“What’s this?” she asked with a curious smile, unwrapping the object in Yara’s hands. It was two objects, two beautifully crafted leather bracers.

“Dagmer likes to brag about how proficient you’ve become with that bow of yours and when I heard the She-Bears planning this armor for you, I thought it only fitting to give a skilled archer the part of the armor she needs most.”

“Oh, Yara, they are wonderful,” Sansa spoke softly, humbled by the complimentary words. As she slid the bracers on her forearms, she noticed something embossed on the edge of the leather near her elbow. “Oh, is this-”

“A direwolf and a kraken,” Yara finished for her. “Marriage or not, you will always be both.”

“Thank you so much,” Sansa exclaimed as she threw her arms around Yara’s neck in a tight embrace.

“Aye, of course. But let’s get this caravan moving. You’re not the only one that misses my annoying little shite of a baby brother.” Yara pulled from their hug and gave her that classic Greyjoy smirk as she went to mount her horse.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

He was nervous. His palms were sweaty, hands shaky.

“Greyjoy, what is with you? You couldn’t hit a mark to save your life today,” Robb teased.

“It’s because his betrothed should be arriving any day now,” Arya responded laced with sticky sweet sarcasm.

“Any day now? We would have gotten a raven from Lord Glover if she was that close. You couldn’t know that, Arya. I would know before you and--” Robb was cut off.

“I was up in the tower when Maester Luwin received the raven,” Bran stated as he strapped the leather guide onto his hand, preparing to take target practice.

“You both knew before me?” Robb exclaimed with envy, looking to Theon in the hopes that it wasn’t true. Theon just shrugged and gave him a look that confirmed they all knew before Robb.

“I know, too, Robb,” Rickon shouted from the top of the stack of hay he’d been climbing for the last hour.

Robb growled as he lowered his head, kicked the dirt, and began to storm off. But then he turned on his heel and stomped back to Theon. “I need to hunt something. Let’s head to the Wolfswood. Grab your quiver and arrows and I’ll get the horses.”

“I want to go,” Bran shouted after him. 

“No,” Robb answered without looking back.

“I am going with,” Arya said to Theon.

“No you are not,” Robb again answered without a glance in their direction. Theon just shrugged in response as he grabbed his things and ran after Robb.

This was what Robb did when he needed space from his younger siblings and he usually dragged Theon along with him, though most of the time he didn’t mind. That is, as long as Robb didn’t start going on about Dacey Mormont. He could tell Robb liked her but Theon didn’t even know where to go with that conversation.

As they rode out of the gate and off toward the Wolfswood, Theon could tell something was bothering Robb, more than just being the last to find out Sansa would be arriving any day. He hesitated to ask, afraid he would bring up a certain girl. He had yet to tell Robb that he and Dacey--well, he wasn’t sure what he and Dacey had been. So he kept his mouth shut.

As they got into the woods, they both grew silent. Robb was quite a skilled hunter and Theon had picked it up quickly, already an adept archer. His arrow was nocked and ready.

They both turned toward a rustling at their side. Robb slid off his horse and unsheathed his sword. Theon slid down with his bow drawn as they approached the source of the sound. That is when he heard the unmistakable sound of a boar. He caught Robb’s eyes with a worried look. Boars were dangerous. He had been on one boar hunt with King Eddard and a large retinue of Winterfell men. But just he and Robb, that was risky.

He knew by the look in Robb’s eyes that there was no talking him out of this. They slowly stalked forward, hearing the horses whinny behind them. Theon could feel his heart beating in his ears, the fear creeping down his spine.

He heard it before he saw it. He turned to face the beast charging at him. As he was about to release his arrow, something struck the boar from the side throwing him off his path, the animal sliding headfirst into the ground next to him. 

There lay the boar, twitching in its final moments of life, an arrow protruding from his head, an arrow that did not belong to Theon. He looked around to see Robb standing there stunned, breathing heavy, sword in hand, staring at the beast.

“Well, hello, baby brother,” he heard a familiar voice call. He watched as his sister stepped out from between the trees.

“Yara,” he said in shock, his eyes wide. “You did this? How?” He knew she was notoriously bad with a bow and arrow, better at smashing, slicing, stabbing, and bludgeoning.

“Of course not. And leave it to you to need your bride to save your hide,” his sister snorted.

Theon watched as a horse and rider appeared at Yara’s side. His eyes traveled up from the horse to the rider to her fire red braid laying over her boiled leather breastplate with the direwolf sigil and finally to her ice-blue eyes. Eyes that captured his attention and he could not look away.

This was not the little girl always chasing him around Pyke, begging for him to play dolls with her or give her a piggyback ride. The girl before him was near womanhood. He understood now what his Uncle Rodrik meant when he had told him about the betrothal. He could see the beauty she was becoming. 

Where he had once felt strange about marrying the little girl he knew more like a little sister, he now felt intimidated by the alluring lady sitting on the horse before him. The girl who just killed a boar with an arrow to the head and saved his life was to be his wife. Yes, he was definitely intimidated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really hard chapter to write. I didn't want to just do the boring "Sansa rides through the gate at Winterfell and sees Theon waiting for her". I wanted her to have the higher ground so to say in a number of ways because, in his mind, she was still a little girl. I also wanted it to be a bit dramatic, with some humor provided by Yara, of course.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is reunited with Theon and her family. A feast is held in honor of her return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa...so this chapter is a little bit longer and it was going to be a LOT longer but I moved some stuff to the next chapter to keep with the pacing.
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who take the time to comment. Your words keep me motivated to write this story.
> 
> Come say hi to me on Tumblr at sapphire-reverie
> 
> Ages:  
Sansa - 12/13  
Theon - 16  
Yara - 19  
Robb - 16  
Arya - 10  
Bran - 9  
Rickon - 7  
Alysane Mormont - 16  
Wynafryd Manderly - 17

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

The rush of the intense moment was still in control of her mind and movements as she entered the small clearing behind Yara. Seeing Theon still standing and the boar seemingly lifeless, she slid off her horse and rushed over to him, looking his whole body over for injury.

“Drowned God, Theon, are you alright?” she asked frantically as she lightly ran her hands across the leather armor over his abdomen and down his arms, eyes fixed on his body searching for any signs of damage.

“Drowned God?” she heard the other boy she assumed was her brother quietly question. As if from somewhere far away, she could swear she heard Yara snort at that.

Meanwhile, as she was trying to ascertain whether Theon had any wounds, he just stood there, motionless, silent.

“Sans, he is fine,” she could hear Yara explaining to her, again as if she were off in the distance.

“Sans?” her brother directed toward the Ironborn princess.

“Yes, Sans. Oh, I’m sorry, do you wish me to stick to the protocol in this life or death situation? Let me try again,” Yara asked Robb, laced thick with sarcasm. She cleared her throat and spoke to her, “Your grace, Princess Sansa, your betrothed has no life-threatening injuries. Hmm, you know, I feel like the first time was a bit more efficient and did the job but, you know, protocol.” Sansa looked over at the two older siblings, Yara looking back at Robb with a classic Greyjoy smile, her brother glaring back at her.

As her heartbeat calmed, she inspected Theon’s neck, touching her fingers to his skin. She felt him flinch at the contact. She pulled her hands back, beginning to remember herself and her propriety. They were no longer little children. As she moved her eyes up, they met his sea-green gaze, wide with something like shock or disbelief.

The boy she remembered was not standing before her. She was looking at a young man, his jawline more prominent, sandy brown facial hair on his chin. He was handsome in a way that was different from the last time she had seen him as a boy of thirteen name days. She felt her cheeks gather warmth at the thought and a tingling feeling in her stomach. This is the man that would be her husband and she was melting under his gaze at the moment.

“Sansa, is that really you?” she heard Robb say off to the side. But she could not seem to take her eyes off Theon at the moment. She had waited so long for this, fantasized how it would go over and over in her daydreams. But she never imagined this situation, a dead boar lying at his feet.

“I’m assuming you’re the big brother, ‘cause you look like the boy version of the girl my brother can’t seem to take his eyes off of,” she heard Yara tell Robb. “Yara Greyjoy,” she introduced herself and extended an arm to Robb in greeting. 

“Robb Stark,” her brother returned as Sansa watched him out of the corner of her eye hesitantly reach out and grab Yara’s arm in return. As he released her, he turned and rushed toward Sansa. Pulling her eyes from Theon, she turned toward Robb just in time as he embraced her in what might have been the tightest hug she ever received, lifting her up off the ground. “My dear sister, you’re home. You’re finally home.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around him in return, this boy, this man, who looked so much like her, his hair the same color, his eyes the same color. She was overwhelmed and felt hot tears sitting behind her eyes. After grasping onto each other for what seemed like a long while, he pulled back from her and looked her up and down. As she watched the tears flowing freely from his eyes, she felt her own run over her cheeks.

“Robb,” she whispered.

The spell of the moment was broken as Sansa heard the rest of their party approaching.

“Well, it looks like we’re having boar to feast on tonight in honor of your return, our Lost Wolf of the North,” Robb smiled at her.

“Aye, help me load this into the wagon,” Yara exclaimed with a slap on Theon’s shoulder, finally breaking his gaze on Sansa. “I’m ready to get to Winterfell, put up my feet, and drink some fine Northern ale.”

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

As they rode through the Wolfswood, Theon on his horse beside her just a bit ahead, she couldn’t stop stealing glances at him, catching him stealing glances back at her. She could hear Yara yapping and laughing behind them with the Mormont girls and Robb leading them all through the trees, carrying on a seemingly one-sided conversation with Theon.

“There she is, Sansa. Does she look familiar? Do you remember?” Robb asked as she rode out of the trees.

Before her was Winterfell and it was breathtaking, like a sturdy heavy crown sitting atop a hill. She had never seen a structure so large, with all its towers and walls spreading across the horizon in the distance. A flash of memory, a bumpy carriage ride, watching this place grow smaller as she was pulled away.

“I remember,” she spoke softly.

“Welcome home, sister,” Robb smiled at her.

Sansa tried to force a smile back, but the feelings sweeping over her were of sorrow and mourning for what had been stolen from her. As they rode on toward the castle, she felt the heat of tears rising behind her eyes again. She was supposed to be feeling happy, looking over at Theon who had sacrificed so much for her and Robb who had missed her. But the emotions filling her at this moment were far from joyous. Flashes of memories from her earliest years continued to come to the forefront, memories she thought she had lost forever.

As they grew closer, she could see figures appearing on the battlements in increasing numbers. Horns began to blare through the crisp air across the valley. Robb and Theon both continued to look back at her with a smile, but as they approached the gate, Theon’s expression changed. A look of concern crossed his face.

“Sansa, I know this will be hard. I’m right here. Yara’s right here. And your family loves you deeply,” he said to her just quiet enough that Robb couldn’t hear him over the sounds of the horses and wagons. She gave him a small nod, straightening her spine and lifting her chin to ride through the gate of Winterfell for the first time in almost nine years.

There was a large crowd gathered, lined up in the yard to greet their party. She knew straight away who her parents were. They seemed so much older and smaller than in her memories. But Theon was right, she looked like her mother. And the younger children around them must be her younger brothers and sister. She didn’t even recognize Arya. Bran was just a baby when she’d left. As for Rickon, they had never met.

Theon was off his horse first and walking over to Sansa, offered his hand as she dismounted. Robb came up beside her, offering the crook of his arm, and Sansa took it as he led her over to their parents.

As they got closer, she could see her mother and father were both weeping. Soon, they were wrapped around her, Robb stepping back to allow them this moment. Her mother was petting her hair and her father was whispering “my beautiful girl” over and over in her ear. Soon, she felt more bodies pressed against them and looked down to see Arya, Bran, and Rickon attempting to hug her as well. She released a loud sob and realized at that very moment that she too was crying.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Settling into her chambers, her younger sister hung around, asking her a million questions. She even wiggled her way into Sansa’s armor and asked her what it was like to ride with a group of women warriors. But she was also a bit exhausting and Sansa wished for just a small ounce of time by herself before the evening’s feast so she could process her feelings and the events of the day.

Soon, her mother was there to shoo Arya out and while she still wasn’t alone, there was relief in the quietness of the room.

“I made you a dress for you to wear for your name day celebration this year and since you turn thirteen in a few days, I guess tonight's feast will serve that purpose. I hope you don’t mind that it is not exactly on your name day,” Catelyn said with nervous hesitation.

Heat filled up her chest in anger. She hadn’t known when her name day was. She knew she had been four when she arrived on Pyke and marked her age on the anniversary of that arrival.

“I didn’t know that my name day was--,” the rest of the words caught in her throat.

“Oh, Sansa, my dear girl,” her mother said as she wrapped her in a hug. Pulling back to look her in the eyes and pushing a stray bit of hair behind her ear, she finished, “We will make up for that tonight.”

The dress was made of a grey buttery satin that looked like silver. Her mother helped her get into the gown. As she took off her shift, she heard her mother hiss through her teeth.

“What did that bastard do to you?” the woman exclaimed. Sansa had forgotten about the scars on her back. Usually, Balon just hit her with his hand, but there were a few times he had been drunk and didn’t like the way she spoke to him and she’d suffered a handful of lashings until Alannys rushed in to stop him.

“It’s nothing. It’s the past,” Sansa answered.

“That monster!”

“Mother, he will be taken care of. Theon and Yara will see to that,” she responded.

Soon, they had her bundled up into the gown and she turned to look in the mirror. Her breath caught as she saw how her red hair shone brightly against the grey fabric.

“We could do your hair up in a high southron style, the way you liked when you were small.”

“No, that is alright,” she said, waving her mother’s hands away. “I just want to wear it down, like a Northern lady.”

“At least let me brush it for you. I missed out on that opportunity for so many years,” Catelyn drifted off. Sansa nodded in acceptance of her offer.

As her mother ran the brush down her back, Sansa closed her eyes, remembering all the times Alannys had done the same for her, showing her love and affection through this simple motherly gesture.

“You look so lovely,” her mother stated as she finished her hair. “I should go get one of my necklaces for you to wear tonight.”

“No,” Sansa said abruptly. “I mean, I have one I want to wear.”

“Oh, alright then,” Catelyn said with a bit of sadness. Sansa felt her sorrow as well, realizing she didn’t know this woman and that she was missing someone else’s mother in that moment.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

The feast was another wonderful night like the one before she left Bear Island, except this time, she was with her family, Theon at her side. When his eyes first fell upon her in the shimmering gown, he stood frozen before her in the hall with a look on his face that almost seemed like he was afraid of her. But then he gave her his familiar smirk and a small bow. 

“Happy name day, your grace,” he said to her.

“Thank you, your grace,” she said with blushing cheeks as they took their places for the meal.

When they had finished the meal, musicians began to play and people began to dance. She watched as her older brother gathered at a table in the back with some young lords and ladies she thought were from her father’s vassal houses. Yara was also at that table, sitting close to Alysane Mormont, laughing in her robust way at everything the She-Bear seemed to say.

“Would you like to go join Robb and Yara?” Theon leaned near her to ask quietly as they sat behind the table on the dais. She could feel his breath tickle her ear, which had to be bright red from the attention he was putting on her all evening. She watched in the distance as Robb asked a girl with flowing chestnut hair and large beautiful eyes to dance. “Or we can stay sitting here if you like, if that is more comfortable for you,” Theon added in response to Sansa’s silence.

“Oh, no, I mean, I would love to join them,” she answered, turning to face him, locking eyes for a moment, and then looking down at her hands in her lap, her cheeks feeling hot as fire under his gaze, butterflies fluttering all through her insides. What was happening to her? She had never been so unable to control her feelings.

Theon stood up from the table and with a small bow, extended his hand to her, “your grace.”

She placed her nervous shaky hand in his and got up to let him lead her to the others. As they walked across the great hall, her hand hooked into the crook of his elbow, she knew they were being watched but in that instant, they could have been the only two people in the room. A tingling sensation spread from her hand on his arm through her whole body, and when she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, she could see he was looking at her keenly, a subtle gentle smile on his lips, the torchlight from around the great hall sparkling in his eyes. She felt as if her legs might turn into a fish tale, wobbling and unsteady, not able to hold her up in the headiness of the moment.

They reached where Yara was sitting as the song came to an end. Robb pulled his dancing partner to where she and Theon stood.

“Sansa,” Robb spoke with a breathless smile, “may I introduce Lady Wynafryd Manderly of White Harbor.” The girl by his side bowed her head toward her and curtseyed. “Lady Wynafryd, my sister, Princess Sansa.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Wynafryd,” Sansa replied with a small bow and curtsey of her own, not sure if that was how to respond and not wanting to offend the other girl.

“The pleasure is all mine, your grace,” the older girl replied. “Your brother tells me you are quite skilled with the needle. Will you be joining our lessons with Septa Mordane?”

“Oh, um, I guess I will be,” Sansa answered, still so unsure of what her responsibilities and routines would look like here at Winterfell.

“Sansa is also quite skilled at drawing. She captures such beauty and expressiveness in her work," Theon added with a proud expression on his face.

“Oh,” Wynafryd said with surprise and then smiled warmly at Sansa, “you will have to show me sometime.”

“I could draw your portrait,” she answered shyly.

“That would be wonderful. Then we could spend more time together, get to know one another better,” Lady Manderly said eagerly as she beamed knowingly at Robb.

The musicians began another song and Robb eagerly pulled Wynafryd to dance. “Join us,” he shouted back at Theon and Sansa.

She looked to Theon at her side, grinning back at her. “Shall we?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded her response and as he swept her toward the center of the room, memories of their childhood together came flooding back. Of the two of them trying so hard to follow Queen Alannys’s instructions, stifling their giggles with little luck. Eventually, Sansa would end up with her feet on top of Theon’s and he would dance them around in a waddle, their laughter echoing off the cold dank stone of the great hall in Pyke.

She touched the pearl at her neck that Alannys had gifted her years ago, whispering in Sansa’s ear that she loved her like a daughter. The hot tears threatened once again at the back of her eyes. Oh, how much she missed Alannys Greyjoy. Her heart ached for the woman who had raised her for most of her life.

“I miss her, too,” Theon whispered to her, his eyes on her hand touching the pearl at her collar bone.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacey Mormont confronts Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I want to thank the lovely @forthegenuine for being such a wonderful beta on this chapter. She will be keeping me in check from here on out 😉 and making sure your reading pleasure runs smooth and I keep my storylines straight. 
> 
> Thanks so much as always to all you readers for your kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions. Your comments are the fuel for my writing.
> 
> This one's for Flora_Mills_89. Sometimes it really pays off to comment on a story. 😁
> 
> Come say hi to me and feel free to ask me questions at sapphire-reverie on tumblr
> 
> Ages:  
Sansa - 13  
Theon - 16  
Yara - 19  
Robb - 16  
Arya - 10  
Bran - 9  
Rickon - 7  
Alysane Mormont - 16  
Wynafryd Manderly - 17

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

There was a lightness to Theon’s step as he entered the corridor from his chambers the morning after the feast celebrating Sansa’s return to Winterfell. Ever since their betrothal, there had been an uneasy feeling inside him, unsure whether marrying his childhood friend was the right thing to do. But yesterday, seeing her for the first time since he left Pyke almost four years earlier, had changed everything. All their shared memories stood to strengthen their bond.

As he began to turn the corner he heard a voice he knew that broke him from his reverie, immediately sending him in the opposite direction. He had successfully avoided Dacey Mormont last night at the feast but she hadn’t made it easy and he wasn’t about to let her make a scene now.

Deciding to forego breaking his fast in the great hall, Theon headed toward the training yard, hoping Dacey hadn’t seen him. As he prepared his bow and arrows for target practice, he thought about the daggers Dacey had sent his way with her eyes over the crowd last night. He felt horrible that things had ended so abruptly with her. They should have realized it wouldn’t end well. Everything felt so good in the moment with her, but they were highborn children with duty and responsibility. For people like them, a love match was a rare occurrence. 

Not that he loved Dacey. Back on Bear Island, there were moments where he thought he could be happy for the rest of his life with a girl as beautiful and wild as her. But they really never talked much. He didn’t know much of anything about her. They spent most of their time exploring the physical aspects of each other.

What they had was more lust than anything else. He was extremely attracted to her and he still was. He could feel the tinge of jealousy last night when he spied her down a corridor kissing some other lordling, his hands all over her bodice. Keeping his eyes on the pair a little longer than he should have, she looked up to see him watching and smiled a cruel smile. 

There had been moments before Sansa’s return when he had just wanted to take Dacey out in the forest for a roll or go with some of the other young men on a visit with the ladies of Wintertown. Sometimes it was all he could think about.

But his hosts were a constant reminder of his responsibility. He could not betray the Starks, or the Ironborn, or Sansa. And he thanked the Drowned God he kept himself under control. For so long she had just been this little friend of his, whom he had a deep unexplainable urge to protect. Seeing her again yesterday, in her armor sitting atop her mount, full of power and grace and beauty that would soon surpass any maiden he had ever seen, well, he would give up almost anything for her. And the way she looked at him like he was the only person in the room––no girl, not even, Dacey, looked at him that way.

He spent his morning adjusting his bow and taking target practice as he filled his mind with thoughts of Sansa and their future together. He lost track of time until he heard footsteps behind him and a familiar voice that swept his daydreams away.

“Were you never going to speak to me again?” Dacey asked in a tone thick with sadness and anger. 

Theon closed his eyes tight and loosed the arrow he had nocked and drawn. He opened his eyes to see the arrow at the outer edge of the target, lowering the bow to his side and slumping his shoulders.

“At least I know I still have some sort of effect on you,” she spoke and Theon could hear the smirk on her face.

Theon looked down at his boots covered in the dust of the training yard, trying desperately to collect his thoughts and words.

“What? You can’t look at me now, in the sober light of the morning. You sure had no problem laying your eyes on me last night,” she provoked.

Theon turned to face her, the heat of frustration rising up his neck. She was highborn. She should have some understanding of how this all works. But he also knew he should have told her. She deserved at least to hear it from him.

“Dacey, I-I was a coward. I should have told you when I found out,” he stammered, eyes back down on the dusty toes of his boots.

“Damn right you should have said something to me. I had to find out in a room full of every Northern lord and lady and their heirs,” she scolded.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, glancing up at her through the wavy tendrils of hair covering his forehead.

“Theon,” she said with a whisper and stepped closer, raising her hand to touch his face.

As he stepped back to avoid the intimacy of her gesture, his lower legs struck an object and he fell over it, tumbling to the ground, his legs up in the air.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

She kept her eye on the entry to the great hall as she broke her fast with her family and Yara.

“I saw him head toward the training yard,” Yara whispered in her ear. 

“I wasn’t--” she looked at her friend with shock.

“Yes, you were,” Yara laughed as she tore at the thick bacon with her teeth. “I know you better than anyone, Little Wolf. You have been in love with that boy since your first feast at Pyke.”

“Have not,” Sansa hissed back, trying to keep the volume of the conversation down.

“Just now, when you were looking over at the entryway,” Yara nodded her head at the opposite side of the hall, “the same look you would get each morning waiting for him to come down and break his fast at Pyke. The same look each day you would go out to the cliffs to watch for his ship when he would go to sea. I know you, sister, and I know how much you have loved him all these years.”

“I have not,” Sansa quibbled into her porridge. She could feel the flush go up through her cheeks and to the tips of her ears.

“Drowned God knows he doesn’t deserve you,” Yara smiled at her in jest. “But he will be a lucky king to have a queen as steadfast and devoted as you. He will have total trust in you from the start. How many princes can say that about their betrothed? And he knows how strong you are, that you would gut him like a boar if he dares cross you.” Yara took her last bite and shoved her plate aside.

“Or, at least he knows I would help you with the gutting,” Yara smirked. “Out to the yard?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered in excitement. She looked down at her gown with its tight bodice, the one her mother had laid out for her that morning. “Let me return to my chambers for more appropriate attire.”

“In that case, I’ll grab myself one more cup of ale and meet you at the door to the yard,” Yara said as she threw back the rest of the ale already in her cup.

Sansa quickly made her way to her chambers, changing into trousers and a long thick tunic to ward off the Northern chill, sliding her new bracers onto her forearms. She slowly ran her fingers over the sigils in the leather. Then, glancing in the mirror, she made fast work of braiding her hair over her shoulder, tying a small gray ribbon to the end.

On her way to meet Yara, she passed Lady Wynafryd in the corridor.

“Princess Sansa, good morning,” she greeted with genuine happiness.

“Good morning, Lady Manderly,” Sansa replied as she slowed to politely acknowledge her.

Wynafryd looked up and down at her appearance. “I’m guessing you won’t be joining us for needlework this morning.”

“Oh, um, no,” Sansa hesitated, feeling guilty about the missed opportunity to spend time with another lady of her father’s vassal houses. “But, I would love to join you this afternoon.”

“Sounds wonderful, your grace,” the woman smiled softly. “The women of the Sunset Sea have always been something of a wonder to me. Your physical strength and agility is something to be admired. It will serve you well as the Queen of Pyke.”

“Thank you, Lady Wynafryd,” Sansa returned her smile, honored that she was considered alongside Yara and the She-Bears.

“Enjoy your morning, your grace.”

“You as well.” Sansa quickly made her way to where Yara was waiting.

Their usual sisterly banter continued as they made their way to the training yard. As it came in sight, she saw Theon and her heart began to break. She watched as the eldest Mormont held his hand, pulling him in for an embrace, seeing the affection written across the girl’s face.

Sansa halted and then jolted over to a pillar to hide. She felt her chest get tight and warm tears burning behind her eyes. She was a fool. An utter naive foolish little girl. Of course, Theon didn’t feel the same way she did. He was older. He had other girls. He loved other girls. She felt like such an idiot to think this would be like the fairy tales he used to read to her.

“Sansa, what are you--,” Yara went to ask. “Oh. That idiot. I knew this was going to be a problem.”

Sansa looked at Yara with wide eyes.

“Sans, it’s okay,” she tried to reassure the fearful girl clutching the pillar, trying to disappear into it. “Sans, you need to trust him.”

As Sansa peered around the pillar toward the training yard, she could see Theon putting his hands onto the Mormont girl’s shoulders. She could hear him speaking to her.

“Lady Mormont, this is not--,” he spoke.

“Dacey,” the girl tried to correct him.

“Lady Mormont,” he said more forcefully. “Thank you for helping me up but this is highly inappropriate.”

“Why? Because a wolf might see you?”

“Yes, I mean, no,” Theon stammered, shaking his head. “Because I am promised to another.”

“That doesn’t stop most princes and kings,” the girl said as she attempted to push closer to him, Theon continued to hold her at a distance. “You can have who you want when you want, can you not?”

“No, I cannot,” he paused, looking straight into Lady Mormont’s eyes. “Because my heart belongs to another.” 

Sansa sucked in a breath at that.

The girl laughed. “Your heart? What about my heart? Have you ever thought about my heart?”

“I apologize if I mislead you and I apologize for not being brave enough to tell you the truth when I became tied to another. But I will not dishonor her or you for that matter.”

Sansa could hear the other girl sniff. Was she crying? Over Theon? The jealousy and heartbreak continued to pull tighter at her chest.

“I just thought maybe, maybe I would be good enough. Maybe a marriage between Bear Island and the Iron Islands would be enough to unite your kingdom with the North, but how could I compete with a princess?” The girl backed away from Theon.

“Dacey,” Theon said her name in a familiar tone that stabbed at Sansa’s heart. “I cared for you deeply, but I think my heart has always belonged to Sansa, even when I didn’t realize it. She has been one of the most important parts of my life since I was a little boy. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Nothing, Theon. You don’t need to tell me anything else.” Sansa watched as Dacey Mormont ran toward the Godswood, tears streaming down her face.

She ached for the girl while at the same time trying to nurse her own aching heart. Yara grabbed her hand and pulled her into Theon’s sight. He looked at them with shock.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough, little brother,” Yara answered as Sansa continued to stare at the ground, unable to look Theon in the eyes.

“Sansa, I--,” he struggled to find words as he approached her.

“She heard you, Theon. She knows. It will be alright. You might just need to give her space,” Sansa heard Yara whisper to him. “Actually, I’m going to give the two of you space.” And with that, Yara walked off toward the stables.

Theon was standing right before her. She could feel his gaze on her. Slowly she looked up at him from the corner of her eyes.

“Sansa, I never. She and I. It was before our betrothal. I would never. I have not,” he stuttered through half-formed sentences.

“I know,” she reassured him, raising her chin and looking him in the eye. “I know, Theon. I just feel bad that this girl got hurt. I feel bad that I let fairytales get the better of me. That I let myself think you might feel as strongly as I do.”

“Oh, Sansa, you are my fairytale,” he gave her his infamous smirk. “You are my brave knight that rescued this damsel in distress from the evil charging boar.” He placed his hand on his chest and feigned a helpless gesture.

At that moment, she saw her friend, the boy she played with and jested with for all those years and she laughed out loud. He began to laugh with her and as she laughed harder at his small jape, he slid his hand into hers and beamed at her, a pink rising in his cheeks.

“You and you alone have my heart, my lady wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always for your kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions. Your comments are the fuel for my writing.
> 
> Come say hi to me and feel free to ask me questions at sapphire-reverie on tumblr


	20. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned mulls over his relationship with his old friend, Robert Baratheon, and comes to the realization that a family secret must finally be dealt with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got this chapter out of my brain. Thank you all for your patience!
> 
> Big thanks to my wonderful beta @forthegenuine ❤❤❤❤❤
> 
> To the readers: Your comments are like fuel for my writing and I love each and every one.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr at sapphire-reverie. Follow, chat, ask questions...anything. I always love interacting with you.
> 
> Ages:  
Sansa - 13  
Theon - 16  
Yara - 19  
Robb - 16  
Jon - 16  
Arya - 10  
Bran - 9  
Rickon - 7  
Alysane Mormont - 16  
Wynafryd Manderly - 17

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“That stubborn, willfully ignorant old stag,” Ned growled in frustration, so quietly Catelyn could just barely make out his words.

“Do you think maybe, possibly word has not gotten to him yet?” His lady wife asked hesitantly.

“Oh, it has gotten to him alright, what with Varis and Baelish on his council,” he watched as she looked away at the mention of her father’s old ward.

“Well, maybe we should consider his offer. Nothing is set in stone yet and the Ironborn are so untrustworthy. I just can’t imagine sending our daughter back to those wretched islands and those vile people. She deserves better--”

“Catelyn, hold your tongue.” Ned cut her off, his frustration now turning on her. “While King Balon and his brothers may be a loathsome bunch, the prince has shown nothing but courtesy and respect toward our family. You have to admit that boy is different from his father and will be a different kind of king one day.”

“But Sansa deserves more. If she were queen in the south, ruling beside Robert’s son in King’s Landing--”

“I will not go back on my word to Prince Theon. It is because of that boy we have our daughter back,” he explained as his wife glared out the window of his solar, her jaw shifting in anger with words held back. “From what I have observed, I believe we would have quite the broken-hearted princess in our midst if we were to break the betrothal. That surely would doom any hope you and I may have of reconnecting with her.” He added these final thoughts in a gentle manner, hoping his wife would feel the same sort of compassion and empathy he did for their newly returned daughter.

“I know,” Cat’s gaze shifted to her hands set atop her skirts in her lap. They sat there together in what seemed a long silence. “What about Arya? Could we counter with an offer of Arya’s hand?”

“My love, have you heard the tales they are telling of Joffrey?” Ned asked as he looked to his wife searchingly.

“About him being--not Robert’s? Yes, but surely those are just rumors stirred up by Targaryen supporters,” his lady wife said, dismissing his concerns.

“Cat, I was speaking about his character. I have heard... stories from reliable sources,” he paused trying to gauge his wife’s reaction.

“What kind of stories?”

“Well, as far back as his tenth name day, he has been observed torturing and killing animals around the palace,” Ned spoke, eyes observing every little movement of Catelyn’s expression.

“He is a hunter, like his father. Is that so strange?” she said, giving the benefit of the doubt.

“This is different. Torturing animals, Cat. Honestly, we cannot make excuses for power at the expense of our daughter’s safety,” Ned said more forcefully, with a tinge of anger at his wife’s consuming obsession with the royalty of the south.

“I have been told he is cruel to his siblings, often sending them running in tears, even in public. He received a crossbow for his fifteenth name day and it is said that he stalks around the castle grounds taking aim at the stray cats with no regard for the safety of the people around him,” Ned reached for his lady wife’s hand, cupping it between both of his own, leaning in closer to her. “This information, along with challenges to his legitimacy, it is just too much of a risk to tie our daughter to.”

Ned took his turn looking out the window pensively. Even if Joffrey was not a bastard, he knew there was another reason his claim to the Iron Throne could be challenged. As he thought about Jon off at the wall with his brother Benjen, there was a knock at the door. He looked up to see Maester Luwin entering the solar, just as a horn began to blow outside.

“Pardon me, your graces,” the old man politely interjected. “There are two riders all in black approaching from the north. I believe it may be your brother, Benjen.”

Ned looked from the old man to his wife. He could see the lines harden in her face.

“You said two riders. Is it another of the Black Brothers?” Cat asked sharply.

“I cannot be sure, your grace, but he does seem smaller and younger than Benjen.”

“Jon,” Ned spoke softly, looking down at the long-forgotten stack of petitions he had been reading before Catelyn arrived in his solar to discuss the message from Robert. He could feel the chill in the air as his wife turned her cold glare toward him.

“Why would Benjen be bringing him here?” she growled through her clenched teeth.

“Thank you, Maester Luwin. We will be out to greet our guests in a moment.”

“_ We _?! Guests?! Ned.” Her glare was like daggers that could kill.

Ned was rarely a man to lie. The only lie he ever told that truly mattered was about Jon. The whole realm––outside of him, his brother Benjen, and his bannerman Howland Reed––knew Jon Snow as his bastard. It had almost destroyed his new marriage to Catelyn all those years ago when he arrived at Riverrun after Robert’s Rebellion with a babe swaddled in his arms. No matter the pain he saw in Catelyn’s eyes, Howland had agreed with him that this was the only way to protect the baby. And his marriage might have been over at that moment if she had not been holding his own son in her arms as she greeted them that bittersweet day, the day he met his own first child and the day he broke his wife’s heart.

He had always thought he would know when the right time would come to tell his wife the truth but as he sat there with the knowledge that Robert did not recognize the North’s sovereignty and Cat’s suspicious reaction to the mention of Littlefinger, her childhood friend and a member of Robert’s council, he still did not feel safe in sharing Jon’s secret with her. His best friend and wife, both untrustworthy in this matter, a fact that deeply saddened him.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Ned watched as his youngest three children greeted Jon and their uncle at the gate with excitement and endless questions about life on the Wall. Benjen ended his lineup of embraces by lifting Rickon high up above his head, the little prince’s legs kicking in the wind, his laughter filling the yard.

Robb and Jon embraced for a long while, not having seen each other since just after their eighth name days. The boys had been close when they were little, Robb usually running interference between Jon and Catelyn. Though his wife had made an oath to treat him like her own, she had never truly been able to honor it.

“My dear sister, I am so relieved to see you safe and well,” Jon spoke softly as he stood before Sansa, who had a dark expression across her face, her brow furrowed. “You’ve grown so much I wouldn’t know it was you but for your hair and your blue eyes.” 

Jon stood there with a soft grin, gazing at her, hand outstretched, palm up, but instead of placing her hand in his, she leaped forward wrapping her arms around his neck, burrowing her face into his shoulder. As she began to weep, her cries echoed off the stone walls. Jon gently wrapped his arms around her.

“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed into his thick black cloak. “No one told me you were still alive. No one told me.” Her words stabbed at Ned’s heart. They really should have told her. In all the commotion of her return, he had neglected to think about how she might feel. She had mourned him and thought she would never see him again. They should have told her.

Benjen came to stand by Ned’s side, clasping a hand on his shoulder.

“Brother,” the man of the Night’s Watch spoke. “We have much of grave and urgent importance to discuss.”

Ned nodded to his brother, an ache in his heart for their sister, wishing she was here to see the man her son had become. He watched as Sansa finally released Jon and began to introduce him to her betrothed, Jon gripping the Ironborn prince’s arm firmly in a shake.

“Come, my dear brother,” Ned gestured toward the entrance near his solar. 

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“We must tell Jon,” Benjen pleaded with Ned. “He has a right to know. He is a man grown now. He asks every day to take the black and every day I have to find a way to put it off. He deserves to know that he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

Ned gave an admonishing look at his brother for speaking Jon’s secret out loud.

“Ned, I know he was your friend once, but Robert is a drunkard who spends his time in brothels and shows no interest in governing, leaving the south to the whims of the Lannisters, Varys, Littlefinger, and other ruthless self-interested snakes. Jon must know for the good of the realms. It is his decision to make whether to claim his birthright or disappear into the Night’s Watch. But I will not let him make that latter decision without knowing all. And if he chooses to fight for the throne, his rule will be better not only for the south but also for the other realms.”

Ned just continued to stare into the fire in the hearth.

“Here is your proof,” Benjen continued, jabbing his finger down onto the letter from Robert. “He is in complete denial over the fact that he no longer rules seven kingdoms. He doesn’t even recognize your claim to the North or your daughter’s betrothal to the Ironborn heir. He is lost, Ned.”

Ned looked up at his brother, still trying to find his way to the right decision. Benjen splayed his palms on Ned’s desk and leaned in closer.

“For the sake of your wife, give her this relief,” Benjen spoke softly with conviction. “You have always been a good and honorable man. To many, Jon is proof that you are not, proof to your wife that even the best of them can falter. Tell Jon. Tell her. Free yourself of this burden. Free Cat of this burden. Give Jon the power to decide.”

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

That evening the great hall was alive with celebration as a send-off for the ladies of Bear Island and the Greyjoy princess. They were to embark on their return journey the following morning. He watched as his daughter and her betrothed soaked up these last moments with the Ironborn woman. His heart ached at the reminder that this woman was more a sister to Sansa than Arya.

The evening also served as a celebration of Jon and Benjen’s homecoming, giving Catelyn the opportunity to subtly make amends with Jon by placing him on the dais with his family. As a child, he was rarely even allowed in the hall during feasts because Cat saw him as an affront to her honor.

And while Jon was brought closer into the family fold as well as his wife’s good graces, he had a feeling he may be sleeping on the chaise in his solar that night. Catelyn was furious at him and Benjen as well, for not trusting her with the truth of Jon’s parentage, that Jon was the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, rightful heir to the Iron Throne. He knew in time his wife would find it in herself to forgive him, but her anger had been palpable.

Jon, in turn, had looked at Ned as if the weight of the world had just been placed on his shoulders, and in a way, it had. Benjen even remarked that his usual serious brooding seemed even more intense that evening. All he did was thank Ned and Benjen for the truth and walked out of the room. He wasn’t seen again until the feast began.

“We need to talk about more than just Jon and King Robert,” Benjen said as he walked up to Ned’s side near the edge of the Great Hall where he had been observing his family.

“Mmm, and what is that?”

“We need to talk about what I have witnessed,” his brother now turned toward him, speaking in a hushed voice. “The threat I have seen beyond the wall and it is not the Wildlings.”

Ned turned to look into his brother’s eyes, dark and full of fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is designated an interlude because of the change of POV. It is also the chapter between pre-show/books timeline and the time period of the show/books. The next chapter lines up with Episode 1.01.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Theon deal with their sorrow for things they've lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my lovely beta, @forthegenuine said, " I can feel my teeth rot with how sweet your writing is!" This chapter is VERY fluffy.
> 
> This chapter is also my submission for the July 2020 Theonsa Creators Challenge theme: THE BEACH  
You can follow and participate in the challenge on Tumblr @theonsachallenge
> 
> To the readers: Your comments are like fuel for my writing and I love each and every one.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr @sapphire-reverie. Follow, chat, ask questions...anything. I always love interacting with you.
> 
> Ages:  
Sansa - 13  
Theon - almost 17  
Yara - 20  
Robb - 17  
Jon - almost 17

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Sansa knew she was dreaming again. She began to call them wolf dreams because the same wolf appeared by her side in almost every one of them. Recently, she was beginning to see Theon more often in her dreams, with the kraken wrapped on his arm. But the dreams had gotten darker since she arrived at Winterfell. This particular time, as she saw Theon appear before her, he began to grimace as if in pain. Soon he was doubled over screaming her name, but no matter how fast she ran, she could not get any closer to him. She could not save him, could not comfort him. Panic rose in her when she heard a knocking sound.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

Her eyes flashed wide awake, fear and sorrow bubbling over from her dream into her chambers, swirling with the rare morning sun beaming through her window. The relief of finding herself safe in her room at Winterfell helped the fear subside but the sorrow seemed to stick around her heart, trapped inside the cage that was her ribs.

Over the past few months, she felt trapped in Winterfell, its thick fortress walls built to keep out enemy combatants as well as the cold, made her, in turn, feel like she couldn’t escape. Couldn’t escape the confines of the castle or the confines of her role as Princess of the North. 

While Pyke had been ruled by a wretched man and his wretched older sons, she always felt like the walls could never truly hold her in, that she could run wild over the island, breathe the fresh sea air as it blew through her hair, feel the mist on her face, taste the salt on her tongue, and feel the sand between her toes. She knew deep down that it was a false sense of freedom, that she had been held hostage in that old rickety keep. But she knew nothing else. 

Now that she knew Winterfell, she felt so much conflict inside. Moments of utter sorrow would crash over her like waves, sorrow for what she lost. Sorrow for the years she lost with her family. Sorrow for the mother she left on Pyke.

A knock on the door alerted her to the chamber maid’s arrival. 

“Your grace,” Sansa heard through the door.

“Come in.” Sansa sat up and tossed back the blankets, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and slowly flattening her bare feet onto the cold floor. As her maid fussed about the chamber and helped her dress despite her protests, Sansa stared out the bright window in a haze of daydreams and memories. She realized, just like Pyke, that the sun rarely shined this bright in the North.

As soon as the maid had fastened the last bit of clothing on her, she practically ran out the door and down toward the kitchen. She wasn’t going to waste a moment of this sun with breaking her fast in the hall. She wove her way between kitchen staff, grabbing a warm biscuit off a tray fresh out the oven and tucking it into the pocket of her skirts. She spotted a rosy ripe pear in a bowl and added that to her hiding place. Lastly, a wedge of golden cheese sat on a chopping block next to a small knife. She swiped these as well, wrapping the knife in a small towel.

A smile on her face and hop in her step, she intended to quickly pass by the entrance to the hall, hoping to remain unseen, but a familiar figure caught her eye. His head hung over his bowl of porridge, shoulders slumped. He was slowly shoving the contents around the bowl with his spoon, never lifting it to take a bite. Robb sat next to him telling an animated story to Jon across the table. But Theon, he looked like how she felt in her heart.

In that moment, she changed her trajectory and quietly walked over to the table. As he looked up at her, a smile swept across his face, masking the sadness for a bit. She slid onto the bench next to him as he stood to greet her.

“Your grace,” he said politely.

“Oh, please, Theon,” she said as she gently touched his hand and returned his smile. “Not from you, too. We are just breaking fast with family. I am just Sansa.”

His smile continued, a sparkle in his eye as he sat down beside her.

“Can I get you anything, your grace?” A young blonde serving girl approached their table. She must have been close to the boys' age with more curves than she had at thirteen. Sansa watched as Robb and Jon both halted their conversation to watch the girl, who seemed to have her eyes on the prince next to her. But Theon was watching Sansa, as if waiting for her response with delightful anticipation.

“No, thank you,” she dismissed the girl and turned back to a frowning Theon.

“You need to eat something,” he said with concern.

“I have something to eat,” she said as he looked down and she pulled the pear and biscuit just barely out of her pocket. Theon looked down at the food and then back up at her, this time with a smirk, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes.

“What are you up to, Little Wolf?”

“Meet me by the Weirwood tree.”

“Ah, I see,” he said as he ate a spoonful of the cold mush. “What shall I tell my training partners?” Theon gestured toward Robb and Jon with a nod of his head, the two already back in lively conversation, well, mostly Robb.

“Tell them you need some air, need some solitude. I don’t know. Just think of something,” she whispered into his ear.

Hearing her mother’s now-familiar throat-clearing down at the other end of the dais, Sansa stood upright and bobbed a small courtesy to Theon and was quickly off out the hall. 

With a hop in her step, she made her way to her chambers to add something to the stash in her pockets before she headed out to the Godswood.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“Go! Court my sister! I want her happy in love and you as well, brother,” Robb said boisterously as he clasped his hands to Theon’s shoulders. He watched as Jon winced at the sentiment. 

Theon had yet to earn Jon’s trust, he could tell. And he didn’t blame him. After all, it was the Greyjoys that broke his family into pieces. He just hoped in time they could grow to rely upon one another.

Theon gave Robb a shy smile and a nod, turning from the training yard toward the Godswood. 

Courting Sansa. Is that what he was doing? He felt like it was just the two of them being the same children they were all those years ago, but with hand-holding and professions spoken aloud of caring deeply for each other. She was still too young for anything more. But he trusted no other person with his heart. He realized that now. In his sorrow of missing his mother and the traitorous deeds he had committed against his own kin, she was the only one who understood the conflict inside him. And possibly his sister, but she was not here with him.

As he approached the Weirwood, he saw Sansa leaning up against the tree, biting into the rosy pear she had hidden in her pocket. As soon as she saw him, a smile lit up her face.

“Theon,” she spoke sweetly. Her hair was down along her back in a traditional Northern style, a simple small braid held the auburn strands back from her face and fell along the neckline of her gown, a much more simple gown than the ones she wore to feasts and court. He found she seemed to prefer gowns like this one and acted more like herself when wearing them. He knew how she felt. Growing up a prince on Pyke was a much more simple life than the formal experiences of the princelings and lordlings of the mainland.

As soon as he got within a few feet of her, she turned and ran toward the thick of the forest. He stood frozen for a moment, watching her run, her skirts hiked up in her hands, her hair flowing in the air like flames. He saw flashes of a little girl, kissed by fire, running just like this down the beach on Pyke, smiling back at him with a gap-toothed grin.

“Well,” Sansa had paused and called back to him. “Are you coming?”

He couldn’t help the silly grin that spread across his face as he chased after his childhood friend. He had sorely missed this feeling, the feeling of freedom, the feeling of comfort in being himself, the feeling of home. Home. As he thought about it, he felt a pang in his heart for his mother and the hurt he must have caused her. If only he could write to her.

As he followed Sansa, a thought crossed in the back of his mind that going off deep into the woods with no chaperone was probably not the type of courting Robb had in mind for his sister. And Queen Catelyn surely wouldn’t approve. But it was so hard to fight the urge to be like they were as children.

He wove between the trees as the forest got thicker, keeping his eye on the red hair in front of him. Soon he found himself in a clearing with Sansa standing in the center looking up at the sky, her chest heaving as she caught her breath from the run. The grass around her reached up to her stocking-covered knees, dress still bunched in her hands as if she might take off running again at any moment. Instead, she turned toward him with a smile, dropped the hem of her skirts, and stretched her arms straight out from her sides. Just as suddenly, she let herself fall backward into the thick soft grass, her skirts billowing as she fell.

“I’ve never seen grass this tall,” he heard her exclaim, hidden amongst the grass. “That I can remember, of course.” She finished her statement with a small laugh.

“It is quite different from Pyke,” he responded as he sat down next to her, flattening a small patch of grass as Sansa began slicing pieces from a wedge of cheese with the knife she had just unwrapped. She offered him a piece. He picked the cheese off the small blade as he continued his thought. “And I must admit, much more beautiful.” Theon looked around at the variety of trees surrounding the clearing.

Sansa sat straight up. “I have to disagree!”

Theon shook his head as he began to protest.

“Let me explain,” she stopped him before a sound came out of his mouth, her smile still gracing her face. “Pyke is more than just the rickety old keep where your father lives. It is more than just the barren expanse of rock with barely enough soil to grow the smallest blade of grass.”

He watched her as she spoke so eloquently about such a desolate place. When had she become more woman than girl? When had she ceased to be the silly little child that followed him everywhere? When had she become this?

“The beach on Pyke might just be the most beautiful place I have ever seen,” she continued, handing him the last bit of cheese and returning the knife to her pocket, wrapped safely in the cloth. “Granted, I haven’t seen much of the Seven Kingdoms, but still, that beach reaches every sense you have, the everchanging shades of green, gray, and blue in the sea. The sound of the waves crashing onshore. The feel of the mist on a rainy day or the warmth of the sun when the clouds part. The taste and smell of salt in the air. The feel of the sand sifting between your toes and through your fingers.”

By this point, Theon had closed his eyes, imagining his best days with Sansa and Yara on the beach.

“When you put it that way,” he said, opening his eyes back up to see her looking at him, studying him, a more contemplative expression. She lifted a hand to his cheek and brushed her knuckles gently against the stubble.

“When did you become a man?” She said softly, a pink color rising in her cheeks as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She quickly pulled her hand back and set it in her lap.

“Sansa,” he spoke softly. There was a pleasant silence between them for a while. He watched her intently as she looked around the clearing, studied her hands, and stole glances at him from the corner of her eyes.

“You miss it, don’t you? You miss the sea and the islands,” she paused. “And your mother.” Sansa’s gaze was held down toward her hands in her lap.

“Aye.”

“So, your seventeenth name day is soon. I know my mother is planning a feast to celebrate and I have had a gift for you for a while,” she chuckled as she peered at him through her lashes. “A long while and well I noticed you were missing home and I thought maybe I’d just give it to you now.” She was digging in her pockets this time.

“Sansa, you don’t need to give me anything--”

“Oh, hush,” she stopped him, tilting her head as she smiled and looked up at him. “Close your eyes.”

He smiled back at her and did what she asked.

He felt her hand slide beneath his own that was resting on his knee. She turned his hand palm up and set a hard object in it. As he wrapped his fingers around it, he felt the smooth surface and small bumps of a cone-like shape. He ran his thumb on the long edge of an opening in the side and began to smile as he realized what she had given him.

“Hold it up to your ear,” she instructed him. As he did so, he opened his eyes to see her holding her own conch shell to her ear. “Can you hear home?”

With the sound of crashing waves filling his ears, he felt tears burning behind his eyes and a warmth flooding his chest.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unending thanks to my beta @forthegenuine
> 
> It only took 22 chapters to get to the tv show canon timeline! This chapter lines up with the first half of Episode 1.01. Second half to come in chapter 23.
> 
> If you have read this far into my story, you know I'm a sentimental sap and this story is gonna be fluffy and all the rest, and most of my favorite characters are going to have happy endings. This doesn't mean there aren't dark days ahead. Winter is coming.
> 
> Ages:  
Sansa - 13  
Theon - 17  
Yara - 20  
Robb - 17  
Jon - 17  
Arya - 11  
Bran - 10  
Rickon - 7  
Wynafryd Manderly - 18  
Jeyne Poole - 13

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

298 AC

He looked out over the bow of a ship, the sea before him masked in white mists. His hands clutching the side of the longship, he could feel carvings. Looking down, Theon noticed tentacles carved into the wood and followed them up to the top of the bow where an intricately carved direwolf’s head looked out at the sea. A fierce direwolf wrapped in the tentacle of a kraken. 

_ A sea wolf _ , he thought to himself. He remembered the statue on Bear Island of his namesake, Theon Stark.

Following the gaze of the wooden wolf, he looked out to see something breaking the surface of the water. Each time, the creature seemed to get closer to the ship. Soon he was watching as the beast glided under the surface along the side, Theon chasing it toward the stern. It was the largest sea creature he had ever seen. It was no shark or whale. The only thing it could be was a kraken.

Suddenly, he felt something grab at his ankle and looked down to see a wolf pup gnawing at his boot.

“Theon!” A little boy’s voice seemed to come from the pup. “Wake up, Theon!”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head, and when he opened them, he was face down in a pillow.

“It’s time for my archery lesson and you said you’d help me today!”

Theon flipped his head to the other side and looked down the bed at Bran Stark who was tugging at his leg.

“You are correct, little wolf,” he muffled into his pillow. He turned onto his back and swung his legs to the side of the bed as he sat up.

Bran was completely outfitted in his boiled leather armor and bracers at his wrists, hopping on his toes with an impatient expression across his face.

“Let us go loose some arrows, shall we?” He said. Bran’s straight lips curved up into a big grin as Theon ruffled the hair on his head.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“Fine work as always. Well done,” Septa Mordane said as she knelt beside Sansa with a smile on her face. The septa began pointing to details in the needlework going on and on, but all Sansa could hear was the sound of the boys’ laughter and loosed arrows hitting targets in the yard out the window above where she and the other girls of Winterfell sat sewing.  It reminded her of the boredom she felt sometimes in Queen Alannys’s sewing circles back on Pyke.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Arya looking up toward the window as well. When she turned back toward Sansa, they smiled at one another in an unspoken agreement. When the septa’s back was to them, helping another girl with her stitch work, Sansa nodded her head toward the door and the two sisters slipped out of the room without a sound. Sansa took one look back before they were out of sight. She could see Jeyne, a girl she had begun to befriend, looking toward her in shock. But next to her sat Lady Wynafryd giving her a sly knowing smile of approval. With that, Sansa was off following her sister’s silent steps out to the yard.

By the time she reached the yard, she could not see where Arya had gone. She watched from the shadows as Bran loosed an arrow, missing the target. Robb, Jon, and Rickon began to laugh, but seeing the dejected expression on Bran’s face, she stepped forward to offer words of encouragement to her little brother.

“How many of you made the mark every time when you were ten?” Sansa directed at her older brothers in a scolding tone. “Keep trying, Bran. The more you practice, the better your aim will become.” She spoke softly to the boy as she closed in on the group.

“Your sister is correct,” she heard her father’s voice boom from the balcony above. She looked up to see her parents watching the scene below and froze in her tracks. She knew her mother was disapproving of her participation in combat activities. More than once, Sansa had heard her call them unladylike and inappropriate for a princess. Her father defended her often, referring to Yara and the fact that Sansa would be the queen of the Iron Islands one day. That having combat training may be a benefit among people as rough as the Ironborn. 

“Keep practicing, Bran. Go on,” her father encouraged. “It may also benefit you to listen to your sister. From what I have seen and heard, she might just be the best marksman of the lot of you.”

Bran turned to her expectantly. Behind him, she could see Robb and Jon hanging their heads with a disgruntled look on their faces.

“Don’t think too much, Bran,” she whispered to him.

“She is right,” Jon agreed.

“Relax your bow arm,” Robb added.

As Bran drew his bow, something whizzed between the two of them striking the target. An arrow was dead in the center. They turned behind them to see Arya smiling, bow in hand.

“Father is right. Sansa is a good teacher,” Arya stated and with that Bran had dropped his bow and arrow and was leaping over the railing to go after his other sister as she ran off, her laughter bouncing off the stone walls.

Sansa watched Rickon as he happily picked up arrows and ran them over to Jon to put away. She saw her mother and father still watching them from the balcony. Her mother was watching Jon with a critical expression and then a smile washed over her face. As Jon looked upward, her mother nodded at him with kindness in her eyes. She had noticed a difference in the way her mother acted toward Jon, a good difference. A kinder tone. And it piqued her curiosity.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

  
  


Theon picked up his speed to keep up with Ser Rodrik as he practically ran to report the news to the king. He had taken to spending time with the master-at-arms in his daily routine. He wasn’t sure if it was out of boredom or because this man shared a name with his dear uncle and reminded him so often of the man. That day, one of the patrols had come upon a man of the Night’s Watch. They brought him back, chained. He was emaciated, stumbling frantically along, raving about creatures long in the past.

Now, Theon was following the old knight and his son, Jory, as they went to inform the king.

“King Eddard,” he shouted down the balcony to gain his attention, the king turning to face them. Rodrik nodded to the queen. “Your grace. The guardsmen just rode in from the hills. They captured a deserter from the Night’s Watch.”

“Get the lads to saddle their horses,” the king instructed Jory, who immediately turned to head back toward the stables.

Theon and Ser Roderik stood there as the queen argued with the king to spare the man’s life and that Bran was too young to see an execution. He felt uncomfortable as if maybe he should not be hearing this, looking to the knight for some sign of what to do.

“Law is law, your grace,” the knight said to the queen.

As Theon followed after Ser Rodrik once again as he went to prepare for their ride, he heard King Eddard tell his wife, “Winter is coming.”

Those words rang in his head as he readied his horse for the ride. He knew it was the motto of House Stark ever since his lessons with his Uncle Rodrik when he was a small boy. It had been just after Sansa had arrived on Pyke. The words had always felt ominous when he read them in his uncle’s books, but now hearing King Eddard Stark say the words made the feeling all the more real.

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

The execution was to take place away from the castle. The was an ancient circle of stones that had been used for ages by the Starks of Winterfell to carry out justice. At the center of the stone circle lay another stone that had the perfect notch at the center for a man’s neck to rest before he lost his head.

Theon watched as the guardsmen brought the chained man to this rock before the King of the North. The man, a ranger of the Night’s Watch named Will, looked like he had seen a ghost, many ghosts, and been through whatever hells the Old Gods had.

“I know I broke my oath. And I know I’m a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but--” Will paused, looking up at King Eddard. “I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers.” And with those words, Theon watched as Eddard’s shoulders pulled back and his face looked as if he knew something, as if the man’s words resonated with him.

“People need to know,” the man of the Black continued. “If you can get word to my family, tell them I’m no coward. Tell them I’m sorry.”

The King stood silent for a long while, the man waiting anxiously for his fate.

“You will tell them yourself,” the king responded and turned to Ser Rodrik. “Take this man to the dungeons. I want to talk with him. He may have some information we need.”

“But, your grace--” the knight began to question.

“Go. Now,” the King turned toward his sons. “Prepare to return to the castle.”

As they tended to their horses to ride back to Winterfell, Theon heard King Eddard talking with Bran.

“Do you understand why I did it?” The king asked his young son.

“Jon said he was a deserter.”

“But do you understand why I could not kill him?”

“You need information from him.”

“Sometimes a king needs to listen. A king needs to gather any information that may be key to the survival and safety of his people.”

“Is it true he saw the White Walkers?”

“The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years but your Uncle Benjen has informed me of things that may support this man’s story as truth.”

“So you believe him?”

“When there is corroborating evidence, I must hear the man out. But at the same time, seeing is believing and until then, I have my doubts.”

  
  


⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

As they made their way back to Winterfell through the woods, Theon rode toward the front of their group. Just over a bridge, he came upon a dead stag and dismounted to examine it. Flies were swarming the carcass. Jon and Robb dismounted right behind him and the king followed shortly after walking between them to get a closer look.

“What is it?” Jon asked.

“Mountain lion?” Theon asked, wondering what possibly could have torn open this large and animal in such a fashion.

“There are no mountain lions in these woods,” the king responded. His eyes followed a trail of blood and flesh toward the creek. King Eddard began to follow the trail. The rest of them followed behind him down the path to the water, their swords drawn, ready to protect themselves against whatever beast had killed the stag.

They came upon a giant beast lying dead at the edge of the water. The king crouched before it, examining the broken stag’s antler piercing its body. Theon could hear the whines and squeaks of tiny pups still trying to suckle from the beast. It was at that moment that he realized he knew what the beast was. He had seen flashes of this creature in his dreams ever since he met Sansa. He just never imagined how freakishly large it would be in real life.

“Is it--” he began to ask but could not finish, beginning to think it may not be his place to make such an assertion.

“It’s a direwolf,” Eddard said. He looked up at Ser Rodrik who leaned back with a serious and knowing expression. “Tough old beast,” the king said as he yanked the broken antler from the carcass.

“There are no direwolves south of the Wall,” Robb stated with a look of disbelief.

“Now there are five,” Jon answered looking down at the pups, picking one up and holding it out to Bran. “You want to hold it?”

Bran took the white, gray, and brown pup in his arms and asked, “Where will they go? Their mother’s dead.”

“They don’t belong down here,” Ser Rodrik chimed in.

“Better a quick death,” the king stated as he stood and walked away from the beast. “They won’t last without their mother.” Some of the guardsmen unsheathed their knives. Theon felt a sense of panic at the moment as if he was finally realizing all his dreams and visions may hold truth and meaning and these pups had something to do with it. Just as he was about to protest, he heard a shout.

“No!” Bran shouted.

“Put away your blades,” Robb snapped at the men.

“We take orders from your father, not you,” said one of the guards.

“Please, father!” Bran begged.

“I’m sorry, Bran,” said the king.

“King Stark,” Jon interjected, his little brother Bran standing beside him with pleading eyes. “There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them.” The king paused, looking around at them all.

“You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves,” he said in anger, sheathing his sword as he marched back up to the road. The guard sheathed their blades and followed after him.

Jon handed two pups to Robb who handed them off to Theon. He looked down at the two furry creatures squirming in his arms, imagining the joy on Sansa’s face when she saw them. There was something about the grey and white one in his arms, something he felt as it looked up at him.

“What about you?” Bran asked Jon as he clutched his new friend.

“I’m not a Stark,” Jon responded. “Get on,” he told Bran, waving his hand up toward the road. Bran seemed sad at his brother’s words, but Jon’s expression was more matter-of-fact. Theon would have thought he would have worn a more disappointing expression, being a bastard and all, but Jon seemed to take the statement in stride.

As they walked up, Theon holding two pups, Robb with two more, and Bran running ahead with his, they heard another whining sound coming from back down near the water.

“What is it?” Robb asked impatiently.

Jon walked back down behind a tree and picked up a little pup, all white as snow, eyes blood red.

“That one is white as snow,” Theon stated. Noting how different it looked from the rest.

“That one must be yours, brother,” Robb said smiling at Jon. “You are a Stark after all.”

⫷⫷⫷⫸⫸⫸

“I cannot believe you found direwolves south of the wall!” Sansa exclaimed as she cuddled her pup up to her cheek. “And six of them, no less!”

They all stood in the yard admiring the pups upon their return to the castle. Rickon grabbed his unruly pup, declared it Shaggydog, and ran off. Arya was jumping up and down until Theon finally handed her pup to her, screeching with joy and the furball entered her arms.

“What will you name her?” Jon asked his littlest sister.

“Nymeria like the warrior queen,” she answered as Queen Catelyn stood behind her rolling her eyes.

“What will you name yours, Sansa?” Theon asked her.

“I--I am not sure,” he watched as her brow furrowed.

“It is okay. Take your time,” Theon responded, reaching up to pet the pup in her arms.

“Prince Theon,” he heard the voice of Maester Luwin behind him and turned to find the man holding a scroll out for him. “A message from your sister.”

He took the parchment and glanced at Sansa who stood by his side in eager anticipation. He unrolled the message.

_ My dear little brother, I saw the most amazing sight today at sea that I could not wait a single moment to share it with you. _

_ I saw a kraken in the water alongside the ship and it was breath-taking. _

_ -Y _

As he re-read the message, he could hear the king talking with his brother.

“ Direwolves south of the wall, talk of the walkers, and my brother is the first King in the North in almost three centuries. Winter is coming, Ned,” Theon heard Benjen Stark say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks bring a smile to my face. Your comments keep me motivated and writing.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @sapphire-reverie


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